


A Yellow Sky

by Odderancy (dreamcatchers_and_chocolate)



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Foster Family, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Child Abuse, F/M, Foster Care, Found Family, Henry Laurens' A+ Parenting, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Past Child Abuse, Polyamory, Underage Drinking, hints to teenage sexuality but nothing more than hints, minor homophobia, minor racism, tbh i started writing this out of pure annoyance and now we're just seeing what happens
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2020-08-11 12:16:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 42,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20153440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamcatchers_and_chocolate/pseuds/Odderancy
Summary: Ten foster homes in three years. Alexander Hamilton is chronically unable to just shut up and do what he's supposed to, even when he's trying, which has certainly had consequences for him in his short life. The Washingtons are his best shot, his caseworker keeps telling him, but Alexander is a realist. They'll realize how annoying he is, hate how much smarter than them he is, and after a couple weeks they'll send him away.But it's nice there, he finds. Far too nice. Almost like the calm before the storm.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have never written Hamilton before so let's just throw myself into this and see what happens!

Alexander leaned his head against the cool car window, his hands tightly knitted together in his lap. Outside, fields and meadows rolled by. A little while ago, they’d left New York City for the first time since he came to the mainland, and it felt strange to leave the cityscape behind. He’d never seen anything like this before. Back on Nevis, and then St. Croix, the ocean reached farther than anyone could see, and palm trees cropped up everywhere. Vast stretches of golden wheat was a new view.

The sun beamed on the clear-blue sky, oblivious to the sixteen-year-old's quiet distress. To the knot in his stomach. Of course it was. Why would _anyone_ \- much less the _sun_ \- care about him? An immigrant, bastard, son of a- Alexander cut himself off right there. Those words had been repeated at him so many times, and most of it was true. But his mother wasn’t a whore, and he refused to let anyone call her that. His father, now that was an asshole, but she... _Kind brown eyes, black hair falling down her face as she stroked his deathly pale cheek. “Vivre, mon Alexander,” she’d murmured before coughing again. Live, my Alexander. “Become something great. You're so smart. It's your destiny.” By the morning, she was dead, and his own sickness had begun to recede._

He closed his eyes. That was the reason he was once again leaving, once again going to a new foster home where he’d undoubtedly wouldn’t stay for more than a few weeks, or months if he was lucky. His foster parents’ son had called him a whoreson and he’d punched him in the face. Had earned him quite the punishment, and then he’d been sent on his way, called _difficult_ and _violent._

Watching the fields buzz by dispassionately, he squeezed the pen in his hand hard. It was calming. No matter what anyone did to him, he’d always have his words.

No matter what the new family did. Without question they’d seem nice at first, and then they’d find out what an annoying brat he was and they’d make him regret it. Eventually he’d end up somewhere else, and the cycle would repeat.

In the back of his mind, he wondered what James was doing right now. His older brother, named after their deadbeat father, who had just turned eighteen as their cousin fucking killed himself, leaving them to fend for themselves. With no job – only an apprenticeship – he hadn’t been deemed capable of raising his younger brother at St. Croix and Alexander had been sent to the mainland after the hurricane. To New York City.

“-Xander. Alexander,” his caseworker, Mr. André, snapped, glancing back from the driver’s seat. “Are you listening to me?”

Alexander flinched, sitting straight and nodding quickly. “Yessir. S-sorry.”

“As I was _saying-” _He sounded annoyed, and it was hard not to flinch again. “-this is your best shot. Your _one_ shot. You’ve been jumping homes for three years now. _Ten _homes, Alexander. In _three_ years.”

Nodding, Alexander stared into his lap. Of course he knew that. “Yessir,” he whispered.

“The Washingtons are influential people, Alexander.” His voice softened marginally. Mr André sure liked to use his name a lot. Seemed to think it gave more weight to what he was saying. It was stupid – not that he’d ever voice that opinion, of course. Making enemies with his caseworker was the last thing Alexander wanted. “And they’re good people. This is the best chance you’ll get, and it was extremely kind of them to agree to take someone with your track record in. Don’t screw up.”

“Yessir,” he said for a third time. He’d learnt his lesson by now. Don’t open your big fucking mouth. Talk only when spoken to. Don’t ask for anything. Never say ‘no’.

And _never_ let them know you’re ten times smarter than they’ll ever be. People don’t like that. They’ll make you suffer for humiliating them. Particularly adults don’t like becoming unable to come up with anything to answer a fourteen-year-old immigrant. The corner of his mouth almost quirked upwards. Would have if he hadn’t still been able to remember the pain coming after those stunned faces.

“Good.” A sigh. The car stopped. “We’re here.”

Without looking, Alexander slid out of the car, keeping his eyes trained on the ground as he went to the trunk to grab the gym bag in which he kept his meagre belongings. Enough clothing for a week, a few books, his notebooks, a lot of pencils, and that expensive fountain pen he’d saved for _two years_ to be able to buy and which now was one of his most precious belongings. And the two things he treasured the most: a photo album from his childhood in the Caribbean, and the few letters he’d received from James.

“Take a look at your new home,” Mr. André prompted, and he automatically obeyed even as he almost scoffed. _Home_. Yeah, right. He looked up.

His bag fell to the ground with a thump.

Holy _shit_.

The house was gigantic, white with a red roof and at least two floors. Alexander couldn’t quite make out if there was a third or if it was an attic up there. A fucking _tower_ stuck up in the middle of it. The car stood on a gigantic gravel circle surrounding a circle of green grass, and a lush garden stuck out from behind the building, and there was a _lake_.

_This_ was his new foster home? Someone who lived like _this_ wanted to take in a poor bastard from the middle of nowhere? _Why?_

Mr André let out a short laugh at Alexander’s open mouth and wide eyes. “Come on, Alexander. Let’s not keep them waiting.”

Jerking back into reality, he grabbed his back quickly, following up to the brown double-doors. “Yessir.”

He swallowed as Mr André knocked hard on the door, forgetting to breathe for a moment as he waited to see his new foster parents. His heart pounded in his chest as he heard footsteps from inside.

The door slid open almost soundlessly, revealing a bald, middle-aged man. A quiet gasp of horror escaped Alexander. He was the biggest man he’d ever seen, with broad shoulders and a serious face. He swallowed, ducking his head to hide the fear in his brown eyes. If that was his new foster father, he could hurt him _badly_ if he wanted to.

“Mr Washington,” Mr André said pleasantly, confirming his fears. Fuck. “A pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Mr André, I assume,” Mr Washington replied, his voice one of someone who was used to being obeyed. “And this must be Alexander.”

Swallowing again, he forced himself to look up and nod slightly. “Yessir. Alexander Hamilton.” He blinked in surprise as his new foster father smiled warmly at him.

“Welcome to your new home. Come in. My wife is in the library, she’ll join us in a moment.”

_Library_. Alexander’s eyes snapped up to Mr Washington’s face, and he straightened without meaning to. They had a _library_? He was just about to shake his head to dispel his excitement as Mr Washington looked at him. Even if they did, there was no way they’d let him in there, was there?

“Do you like to read, Alexander?”

Biting his tongue, he nodded weakly. Hoping the other wasn’t insulted by his interest. “I do, sir.”

To his relief, Mr Washington only smiled wider. “Good. You’re welcome to read anything in there. Just be careful, some of the books are quite old. Quite a few first-editions too.”

Alexander couldn’t hide is shock, outright staring at him. “You’ll let _me-?” _He cut himself off quickly, freezing mid-step where he’d begun to make his way inside. “I- I’m sorry, sir,” he quickly mumbled. His stupid mouth, questioning things. Questioning something _good_. He gritted his teeth. Undoubtedly, he'd revoke the library privileges now, before he’d even had the chance to see it. Somehow, that felt worse than the beating he’d surely get for talking out of turn as soon as Mr André left.

Mr Washington raised an eyebrow, and Alexander swore at himself. For a moment, it seemed like he would say something but then he simply gestured for them to follow, calling out “Martha! They’re here!”

They were seated in a leather couch in the most luxurious living room he had ever seen in his life. If living room was even the correct word. Maybe parlour would fit better. The walls were covered in turquoise wallpaper, with oil paintings hanging on them. He recognized the coffee table as mahogany, and the back wall was dominated by a fireplace taller than him.

Smiling at him, Mr Washington gestured toward one of the paintings, the one hanging over the fireplace. Alexander recognized Mr Washington. He had his arm around a woman who must be his new foster mother. Then there were two other adults – a man and a woman – and a young boy. “You’ll meet Gilbert tonight. He’s our adoptive son, and your age. A few months younger, if I remember your birthday correctly. The other two are Martha’s - my wife’s - children from her first marriage. They have both moved back to Virginia, though.”

“I’m- I’m sorry, sir?” Alexander wasn’t sure what kind of response he was looking for. Mr André gave him a pointed glare, and he shrank in on himself.

Mr Washington only laughed softly, however. “Don’t be. They’re happy and that’s all a parent could ask for.”

He nodded quickly, averting his eyes. Focused on his breathing. The man, his new _foster father_, sounded trustworthy. Kind. But they always did. They always sounded like they wanted him there, like they wanted him to be _family_, but they never did. He hadn’t had a family since his mother died, not even his brother. It had been the same after that, and they’d grown more and more distant.

No, they’d keep the act up, especially as long as his caseworker stayed, and then they’d make sure he never forgot that he didn’t _belong_, that he was here on their _mercy _and that they could get rid of him whenever they wished. Or do whatever they wanted to him: no one gave a damn about yet another orphan lost in the foster system, especially not an immigrant. Even if the Virgin Islands actually were part of the US, but no one seemed to care about that.

Oh, Mr André actually had pulled him out of one of those foster homes himself after a teacher called CPS when the violence became too evident, but that was one time. One. Hardly something to cheer for.

Footsteps came from one of the arches leading into another hallway, and Alexander glanced up just in time to see a tall woman with her hair in cornrows and cornrows in a bun enter the room. Mr Washington lit up at the sight of her.

“Hello,” she said, voice light and sweet. “I’m Martha Washington.” She held out her hand first to Mr André who stood up and shook it, and then to Alexander. He quickly rose as well before shaking it weakly. A flush rose to his cheeks. Pathetic. He was perfectly capable of a strong, business-like handshake, but it wasn’t a good idea to show off to his new foster parents. Not to anyone who had power over him.

“Mrs Washington, a pleasure,” Mr André replied. “This is Alexander. We’re very grateful you were willing to take him in. Aren’t we, Alexander?”

He nodded, staring at the ground. “Yes, sir, we are. Thank you, ma’am.” The words tasted bad in his mouth. Gratitude. They always expected it, no matter how shitty they treated him. He glanced up at Mr Washington. “Thank you, sir.”

“Oh you don’t need to be,” Mrs Washington was quick to say, causing Alexander to frown in confusion. “It’s our pleasure. We’re delighted to have Alexander in our home, and Gilbert is already so excited over having a brother his own age.”

“I already have a brother,” Alexander muttered, before stiffening. _Stupid_. His heart stopped, and he stared up at his foster parents in fear. “I- I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t mean to talk back I’m-” He cut himself off. They’d hate if he rambled. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Mrs Washington tilted her head, watching him in... was that concern? No of course it wasn’t, why would she be concerned about him? It was just annoyance disguised as it because Mr André still was here. Alexander already feared the moment when he’d leave.

“Why are you sorry, dear?”

“I didn’t mean to speak back,” he repeated, hating how weak he sounded. How weak he _was_. And hating that he hadn’t even been here ten minutes and he’d already fucked up.

The Washingtons exchanged a gaze.

“Don’t be, son,” Mr Washington finally said. Alexander flinched at that word. _Son_. “You’ve done nothing wrong. A brother, you say?” He merely sounded curious, but Alexander ducked his head anyway, nodding jerkily. Would they get mad he had a family outside of them? Even if he hadn’t seen him since he left the Caribbean?

“An older brother,” he finally replied softly. “James. He's still on St. Croix.”

“How come you’re not together?” Mrs Washington asked. “If you’re comfortable with me asking.”

He really wasn’t. Not at all. “He was just eighteen when our cousin... died. Our guardian.” His voice was almost inaudible. “Couldn’t take care of me, too old for the system. So he stayed, and I was sent to New York after the hurricane.” It had been so exciting, too, even with the scars watching his home being ruined left him with. He was going to move to the greatest city in the world. There had been no future for him at St. Croix.

Still wasn’t.

Smiling at him, Mr Washington nodded. “If you want to call him, the phone is yours. Don’t worry about long-distance fees, we can afford it.” He stood up, looking to Mr André. “Should we get the paperwork done?”

The other two adults agreed, leaving him behind to go sign the documents in Mr Washington’s study. Alexander curled up on the couch, careful not to let his dirty sneakers touch the leather. His blue second-hand Converse were so worn down he could almost feel the ground through the soles, and they were squeezing his toes. Half-turning, he looked back at the portrait. The fact that they had an _oil-painting _of their family was just... insane. People still did that?

He rolled his eyes. _Rich_ people still did that. Because of course they did. The boy – they'd said he was his age – seemed to be about thirteen there, lanky and a little disproportionate, but already handsome. His thick, curly hair was in a bun on top of his head and he had a cocky sort of smile. Like someone who knew how good and smart they were.

Alexander remembered when he used to smile like that in public. He’d stopped sometime in his second year of foster families, he thought, though it was hard to keep track. Might’ve been a longer time ago.

Anxiety coiled in his stomach as he thought of meeting his new foster brother. Would he like him? Would he be like his last, a spoiled brat who thought he could treat Alexander like a slave? With riches like _these_, it didn’t seem unlikely. After all, Alexander himself was a nobody. Illegitimate, a deadbeat father, a deceased mother. Poorer than a church rat. His most expensive belonging was that fountain pen, which had cost him two hundred dollars. It was so _smooth_ to write with it, and he adored it. Nothing else he owned cost more than twenty – his phone, that is. An old Nokia on which he could do nothing but text and call people, given to him by an old foster family. He was happy just to have it. James had called him on it on his sixteenth birthday a couple months ago. It was the last time they spoke.

Soon, the adults returned, and Mr André ruffled his hair, which he had tied up in a fashionably messy bun, and smiled at him. “Be good now, Alexander.”

“I will, sir,” he replied quietly.

With a nod, Mr André bid his goodbyes and left, leaving him alone with the Washingtons.

As soon as the door closed, Alexander braced himself, ready in case they’d decide to punish him for his rudeness already.

“So, Alexander,” Mrs Washington began, and he looked up at her, accidentally meeting her gaze. He held it defiantly for a moment before looking away, his heart fluttering anxiously. Damn him for being unable to learn his place. To his shock, there was not a hint of anger on her face. She just kept smiling. “Would you like a tour of the house right now, or do you want to go straight to your room? If you want to unpack and get some rest before dinner. Gilbert will be home by then, and he can be pretty intense.”

Unsure what the right answer was, he looked back to her, now careful not to look her in the eyes. There was no indication of which she wanted, so he carefully said, “Can we go to my room, ma’am? If that’s okay.”

She nodded, and he exhaled, relieved relief. Thank fuck, it had been the right one. “Of course. George, take his bag.”

“No!” His heart went up into his throat, and he stood up in alarm, his eyes wide as Mr Washington reached for the black gym bag. Were they- They wouldn’t take his things, would they?

Stopping mid-movement, Mr Washington stared at him in bewilderment before slowly straightening again, not grabbing the bag.

The relief was overpowering, and Alexander didn’t even care if they hit him for having the guts to act out like that, he jerked the bag toward himself, pressing it to his chest.

“Alright…” Mrs Washington blinked. “You can carry it yourself if you wish to, of course. Your room is on the second floor, next to Gilbert’s.”

_What kind of name was Gilbert, anyway?_ Alexander wondered as he nodded again. “Yes ma’am. Thank you.”

His new foster parents led him out the room, up a dark-brown wooden staircase covered by a white carpet. Seemed like a stupid colour to make a carpet in his opinion. Especially one in the fucking entrance hall, where people would come inside from the garden. The walls were covered in art, and looking down at himself, at his worn black jeans, dark-blue t-shirt and flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, he felt incredibly out of place. Alexander glanced up at them nervously. What was he even doing here? This wasn’t the kind of place he belonged in. Not yet, at least. One day, though. That was the thought that kept him going. _One day_.

“There is Gilbert’s room,” Mrs Washington told him, pointing at one door. For some reason, the French flag had been painted on top of the panel door.

Catching him staring, Mr Washington chuckled. “Gilbert is from France. His parents were close friends of ours and wished for us to receive guardianship of him if something happened to them.”

“That’s very nice of you, sir,” Alexander replied quietly, a pit of dread forming in his stomach. At least it had granted him _some_ peace to know they had an adoptive son already. But if they’d adopted him because they knew his parents, it was a completely different thing.

Then, Mrs Washington opened the door next to _Gilbert_’s. “And this is yours. It’s a bit sparse right now, since we didn’t know what you’d like to furnish it with, but I’m sure we’ll fix that in no time.”

Alexander’s mouth fell open as he stepped inside. “This- This is all mine?” His voice sounded strangled as he stared at the room- at _his_ room, at least for now. His throat felt thick all of the sudden.

“All yours, son,” Mr Washington confirmed.

It was so _big_. A twin-sized bed with a teal duvet stood by the wall, and the window had a window-seat, and there was a fancy writing desk with a real office chair that actually looked comfortable. There even was an _armchair_ in one of the corners. “Th- thank you,” he whispered, hardly getting the words out. “Thank you so much, sir.”

Mr Washington smiled, and patted his shoulder. Alexander couldn’t help his violent flinch but was proud of himself that he hadn’t ducked away, at least. The hand was quickly removed.

“We’ll call you down for dinner in an hour.” Mrs Washington stepped out again, her husband following. “Gilbert will probably be home just before that. You can stay here, or explore the house. Do you want the door closed or open?”

Once again, he didn’t know the correct answer. Alexander chewed at his lower lip, then shrugged lightly. He wanted it closed. But he didn’t know what they wanted it to be. With a nod and another slight smile, Mrs Washington left it half-open as they left.

He listened to their steps disappear downstairs before he relaxed, throwing his bag on the bed and jumping up on it. The soft mattress bounced as he moved, and he couldn’t help the small noise of excitement he made. He’d forgotten what a comfortable bed felt like, if he ever had known. Compared to this, his bed home at Nevis had been a _rock_.

When he was certain they weren’t coming back, he started picking up his belongings. The books and notebooks came first, and then the photo album. He’d find somewhere to hide them soon, somewhere the Washingtons wouldn’t look if they searched his room. Then, carefully, he picked up the black folder in which he kept his brother’s letters to him, swallowing down the thickness in his throat.

He pulled up one of them, reading the first lines.

_Alexander,_

_I’m happy to hear you’re doing well in America, and that you’re going to a better school than the one here._

Counting the times he’d debated with himself to call his brother and _beg_ him to get him home to the Caribbean, to adopt him as his only relative alive – except for their father, wherever the hell he was. He’d almost done it one time last January after a bad beating for sneaking down to the kitchen to steal food. Especially during the horrible New York-winters. He never stopped being hungry during those months, and he never got enough food even during the summers. Alexander couldn’t count the times he’d gone to bed a frozen winter night sobbing for the tropical weather of the West Indies. Away from this frozen _Hell. _But eventually, he always talked himself out of it.

James and St. Croix were poor. He didn’t want to be a burden. They’d hardly spoken for over two years, and didn’t know each other anymore.

And in two years he would’ve aged out of the system. He’d finally be able to build himself a future, to go to a great college on full scholarship,_ become someone_. A lawyer or politician, maybe. At St. Croix, he wouldn’t have a future. Certainly not one that would mark his name down in history. And that was what he wanted. What kept Alexander going.

A legacy.

Even if he had to survive two more years of foster care to get there, he would. He’d show them what Alexander Hamilton was capable of. That he was smarter than any of them, _better_ than any of them. He’d be remembered by history while their petty little names disappeared forever as soon as their grandchildren were dead.

The corner of his mouth curled up in a smirk. It was small, but it was there, and he glanced toward the door. The Washingtons could do their worst.

He’d show them _all_.


	2. Chapter 2

Alexander was just in time when he stashed away the last of his belongings, placing the unimportant ones – clothes, old schoolbooks, etc – in obvious places and the ones he treasured inside the armchair. There was a flap beneath it, he’d found, and he could just fit everything there. The same moment as he straightened, he heard the thundering of footsteps in the staircase and he quickly made his way back to the bed, grabbing the book lying on top. It was from an elective in Political Science he’d taken at his last school. Just as he laid down on the bed, eager knocking came from the door. 

Expecting them to just step in, he waited for a few seconds. When they didn’t, he blinked, and hesitantly called out, “Come in.” 

The door immediately flew open and a dark-skinned, black-haired boy stepped inside, grinning from ear to ear as he saw him. Alexander just stared at him. His dark-grey jeans were artfully ripped, he wore a black and white-striped shirt with a brown leatherjacket over and a pin with the French flag. There were two black rings in one of his ears and a small white stone in the other. With heavy Dr Martens’ like that, it wasn’t strange he’d been so loud in the stairs. And fuck he was _ tall _. 

“_Bonsoir!_” the boy exclaimed, jumping up on the bed next to him. Alexander flinched, quickly sitting up and drawing back a bit, putting distance between them. The boy held out his hand. “_Je __m’appe _\- My name is Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier. But you can call me Lafayette.” 

Cautiously, Alexander reached out and shook his hand. “_Bonsoir_. _ Je __suis _ _ Alexander Hamilton_,” he replied, continuing in French. Their accents were different, but it felt good to speak the language again with someone who wasn’t incompetent at it or a teacher. “Lafayette?” 

With a thrilled gasp, Lafayette clapped his hands together. His eyes almost _sparkled _ . “_Tu _ _ parle f__rançais_?” 

He nodded, smiling hesitantly. “_Oui_. It’s my first language. English is my second. You didn’t answer my question.” As he added that, he braced himself. Maybe he wasn’t allowed to question the son of the house either. 

“_Pardon __moi_.” Lafayette threw an arm over his shoulder, pulling him close. Alexander stiffened. He spoke quickly, so fast most other would’ve tripping over their own words, but his were perfectly enunciated. “You’re my best friend now. None of my other friends have bothered to learn my language, so they can go fuck themselves.” He looked betrayed, but the sparkle in his eye told Alexander he wasn’t actually upset about it. Despite his better judgement, he liked the other immediately. “And _Lafayette _ because these _Américains _ couldn’t pronounce my name properly if I held a gun to their heads. Not even George and Martha, though they insist on calling me Gilbert. At least Lafayette doesn’t sound awful when they say it. It’s my title, you see, _mon ami_._ Je suis le __Marquis de La Fayette_. Though we call ourselves _Lafayette_ instead in honour of our ancestor who fought in the Revolutionary War.” 

A grin had begun to form at Alexander’s face as the other talked, but it fell, and he jerked back, staring at the other boy. 

“_Que_?” 

“_Marquis_?” Alexander repeated, gaping. “You’re _nobility?_” 

“Oh, yes.” Lafayette nodded, gesturing at his pin. “Not that it means much since the revolution, especially not here in America. The people seized the power then, as I’m sure you know. With all right! My family was lucky enough to keep our land and riches, though. Anyway!” His grin returned. “It’ll be so fun to have you here. My friends are excited to meet you. We’re going shopping tomorrow, getting you some new shit and stuff to decorate your room with. You’re from the Virgin Islands, _non_?” 

Stunned into silence for once in his life, Alexander only nodded. 

“Maybe you’d like the flag painted on your wall then! You must miss it. I know I miss my homeland, even if America has been very good to me.” He gestured toward the wall opposite of the bed. “I have _Le __Tricolore p_ainted there myself.” 

“Wait,” Alexander said without thinking. “Wait, wait, wait. Why are you talking like I’m _ staying_? And that’d be much too expensive anyway. I can’t afford that.” 

Blinking, Lafayette cocked his head. “Because you are staying, _mon __ami, _are you not? George and Martha are your new foster parents.” 

He let out a curt laugh. “Yeah. For now. No one wants me around for that long.” They were intimidated by his brains, or annoyed by his inability to shut up, or got too mad that he wouldn’t break beneath the pressure. He refused to break. 

Lafayette raised an eyebrow, and Alexander leaned back. _Shit _.That big mouth of his acted again, indeed. There was something about his new foster brother that made him talk too freely, he started to realize already, and that was dangerous. He couldn’t trust anyone. Especially not a member of his foster family. 

“Sorry,” he forced out. “I didn’t- I didn’t mean-” 

“Ah, Alexander.” Lafayette smiled, rolling the _R_ on his tongue. There was something akin to concern in his eyes, which confused him. “Don’t underestimate us. The Washingtons are very kind people and I’m quite used to getting what I want.” His eyes glittered. “And I am thrilled to have you here.” Fishing up his phone, he looked at the time. “_Merde_. We are late for dinner already.” 

He stood, grabbing Alexander’s wrist and pulling him toward the door. Alexander only just managed to hide his wince as he squeezed some old bruises that had almost healed, and followed. He pursed his lips, nervous. Would they be mad they were late to dinner? It wasn’t his fault, Lafayette had obviously been supposed to tell him. But they wouldn’t care about that, now would they? 

As they came downstairs, a heavenly scent of cooked meat laid over the ground floor and his stomach grumbled loudly, causing Lafayette’s grin to widen. “Martha is an amazing cook. Not as good as the one home at my châteaux in Chavaniac-Lafayette, but really fucking good.” 

Alexander smiled nervously back, filing that information for later. _ Chavaniac__-Lafayette _. Once he was allowed to go to school and could get on a computer, he’d google his new foster brother. If he really was a marquis there had to be some information available somewhere. 

“Language, son,” an amused voice came from inside the kitchen. 

Lafayette chuckled. “_Pardon, _George! She’s really _hecking _good.” He rolled his eyes at Alexander as he spoke. 

Clenching and unclenching his hand nervously, giving the other a small smile, Alexander followed the other into the kitchen. Just like the rest of the house it was huge, but it was a weird mix, which somehow worked, between old and new. A firewood stove covered a lot of one of the walls, while the one opposite of it, there was a modern one and marble-covered kitchen benches in front of which Mrs Washington stood. The floor was grey stone and in the middle of the room a huge wooden table that could easily fit ten people stood. Mr Washington was putting out white plates painted with flowers on it. Alexander frowned. Why was Mr Washington helping? Sure, many of his foster families had forced him to assist in the kitchen but that was because he was, well, unimportant in their eyes. A nobody. But in none of the homes he’d been in, including his own back when his father was still around, had he seen the husbands help, and his mother had never asked him or James for help. 

This place was already weirder than he’d expected, and he hadn’t had many expectations for normalcy. 

“Ah, boys,” Mr Washington said, and Alexander stopped dead in the doorframe. The commanding tone almost made him want to stand in attention. “Take a seat, you’re just in time.” He grinned at Alexander. “We suspected that Gilbert would keep you busy so we sent him up early.” 

That made Lafayette scowl as he slid down into one of the chairs, and he stuck out his tongue at Mr Washington. “_Connard_.” 

Mrs Washington turned around, a wooden spoon in her hand. She stared at him strictly, though Alexander saw the corner of her mouth twitch. “We may not be fluent in French, Gilbert, but we still understand you when you insult us.” 

Blushing slightly, Lafayette opened his mouth, likely to apologize, before he suddenly sat up straight. “Oh! But Alexander does! He speaks French._ Fluently_!” he exclaimed, bouncing in his seat. 

Alexander swallowed as all attention was suddenly on him where he was still standing in the doorframe. Hesitantly, he made his way over to the table, nodding. “_Oui _.” 

“Impressive,” Mr Washington said, looking at him up and down with a hint of a smile on his face. “Do you speak anything else?” 

Once again, he nodded. “English, obviously,” he began hesitantly. They wouldn’t ask if they didn’t want to know, would they? Except that two years ago he lived with a family who’d constantly ask him things and then get furious every time he revealed he knew more than them. “Spanish, almost fluently, and I understand Hebrew and some Danish.” 

“Danish?” Mrs Washington asked, sounding confused. 

“St. Croix belonged to Denmark for a long time,” he explained softly. “Most of them left when they sold it to the United States, but when I lived with my first foster family before the hurricane, we had some neighbours descended from Danes who still spoke it between themselves. They taught me some.” 

“Woah.” She stepped back, gesturing toward the food on the stove. “That’s incredible, Alexander.” Her voice was warm, and his heart skipped a beat from the unexpected praise. 

“Re- really?” 

When was the last time someone had told him that in such a motherly tone? He swallowed. Not since he left St. Croix, he was sure. His foster family there had been wonderful, but he’d only stayed there for a few months before the hurricane tore the island into pieces. Eventually, most of the orphans had been shipped off to the mainland. 

Mrs Washington stepped up to him, reaching out to stroke his cheek. Alexander flinched away, his breath catching in his throat, before he realized what she’d actually done. Blood rose to his cheeks as he stared down at the floor, embarrassed. Now they’d think he was a coward. Scared of something that small. Or worse, that he was_ broken _. 

Her hand had stopped mid-air. Pulling it back to her side, she nodded instead, still smiling gently. “Really. We saw from your grades that you have to be smart, but that’s _astonishing_.” 

“Indeed,_ mon _ _ ami,_” Lafayette agreed, watching him closely. He grinned again when he saw that Alexander was looking at him, leaning back in his chair. It turned into a smirk, and he raised an eyebrow at Alexander, almost in a challenge. “Maybe I’ve finally, how you say, met my equal.” 

Turning around, Mrs Washington slapped him gently over the head, and Lafayette turned to grin at her instead. “Very modest of you, Gilbert.” 

“You know me,” he replied, grin widening. “_L’homme le plus modeste sur la terre_.” 

The most modest man on earth. Alexander snorted, causing Lafayette to wiggle his eyebrows. “Sit down, Alexander.” 

He pointed toward the chair next to his, and Alexander obeyed automatically, folding his hands in his lap. He eyed the food on the stove, wondering how much he would be allowed. His stomach ached, and he hoped it’d at least be enough to soothe it if not enough to really sate him. _ I’ve never _ _ been satisfied _used to apply to his place in the world, but lately, the words had taken a much more literal meaning. 

With a smile, Mrs Washington gestured toward it. “_Bon appetite_, boys.” 

Immediately, Lafayette was on his feet, plate in his hands as he rushed up to the stove and started shovelling food from the pot. At Mrs Washington’s urging gaze, Alexander followed. His hands trembled as he slowly made his way to the food, looking it over. A stew in a pot and potatoes, and there was so _ much _ of it and he didn’t know how much he was allowed to _ take_. His breaths grew shallow as he reached out for the potato spoon. Careful not to spill a single drop, he put two potatoes and a spoonful of stew on his plate. It wasn’t enough, but it was safe. 

“_Non, __mon __ami _,” Lafayette said, grabbing the spoon from him and laying on more food. “You are a growing boy. Eat.” 

As the tower of food on his plate grew, Alexander stared at it in pure shock. He didn’t think he’d had that much food at once since he left the island. His eyes were wide and confused as he looked up at Lafayette. “I don’t- I don’t need that much,” he got out, eyes flickering to Mr and Mrs Washington. He desperately hoped they wouldn’t mind it, wouldn’t get mad at him. 

“_Fadaises_.” Nonsense. ”You are my age, non?” 

He nodded. “I think so. Sixteen.” 

“_Oui_. I know me and my friends are hungry all the time. You must eat, Alexander. You are much too thin.” With that, he went back to the table and Alexander followed, watching the other beginning to devour his food while Mr and Mrs Washington went to serve themselves. His stomach growled, but he laid his hands in his lap, squeezing them together as the delicious scent filled him. He hadn’t been given permission to eat yet and he _really _didn’t want them to take the food away because he rushed into it. 

They sat down as well, opposite of him and Lafayette, and Mrs Washington nodded encouragingly at him as she grabbed her own cutlery. “Aren’t you hungry, Alexander?” 

“I’m fine, ma’am,” he replied as neutrally as he could, but his stomach protested, growling again. He winced. 

Mr Washington chuckled, though there was an odd undertone to it. “It doesn’t seem to agree. Eat, son, or Martha will think you don’t like her cooking.” 

“Thank you, sir,” he mumbled before grabbing his fork and shovelling the first forkful of it into his mouth. He only just held in a moan as the thick flavour spread in his mouth, full of spices, and he closed his eyes for a moment, savouring it. When he opened them again, he found the others watching him in amusement. Going red, he ducked his head. “It’s delicious, ma’am.” 

“Thank you.” When he dared look up again, Mrs Washington was watching him with warm brown eyes. It sent another rush of blood to his cheeks. It was so weird to have anyone look at him like that. And while it was_ nice_, it also made him uncomfortable. Left him wondering when the penny would drop and there’d be no more sweetness. When they would realize how annoying he was. 

“So, Gilbert, what did you, Hercules and John get up to this time?” she asked Lafayette, and Alexander sighed in relief as the attention was moved away from him. He ate quickly, determined to get as much into his stomach as physically possible before they decided he’d had enough. Still, he raised an eyebrow. Lafayette had a friend named _ Hercules? _

Lafayette lit up. “We went to the mall! John needed to buy new art supplies and toys for Juggler – his dog,” he added, obviously for Alexander’s sake. “John’s family is from South Carolina where they have like, an _enormé_ farm, and he brought with him this big hairy sheepdog they moved here. Then we tried out the new coffee shop. They’ve got the fanciest fucking drinks, it’s delightful!” 

Unable to help himself, Alexander perked up at the mention of coffee. Maybe if he was good, they’d allow him to go out on his own and he could go there. He had a few dollars saved up. 

Noticing this, Mr Washington turned to smile at him. “You like coffee then?” 

“Yessir,” he replied quickly, fiddling with his fork as he sat up straight. Dammit, if they were talking with him, he couldn’t eat. 

“Maybe you’d want to go with Gilbert and his friends there someday?” he suggested. 

“They’ve been dying to meet you!” Lafayette exclaimed, gently punching Alexander’s arm, and he couldn’t help his flinch. The other boy’s hand froze mid-air and he dropped it again, but kept grinning. 

The idea of going out with Lafayette and his friends was foreign in Alexander’s mind. Why would they want him to come with them? A stranger, a nobody, and an orphan. There was no good reason for it. At least not one he liked. His eyes flickered to Mrs Washington, who was the only one who hadn’t given her opinion yet. 

“I think that sounds like a marvellous idea, if you’re feeling up to it,” she agreed. “Of course you don’t have to if you don’t think you’re ready yet, but it might be good to know some people other than Gilbert when you start going to school.” 

_ School_. Oh, right. With his last family, he’d been home-schooled so no one would notice the very suspicious bruising. He couldn’t help but grin at the thought. _School_. Fuck, he couldn’t wait until then. “If you think it’s a good idea, ma’am. When will I go to school?” He couldn’t hide his excitement. 

“We’ll have to get you written in first,” Mr Washington said, a smile on his face. “But if you feel you’re ready, I’m sure we can have you start at Monday.” 

He nodded eagerly. “Please sir.” 

“I’m glad to see you’re that interested in going to school.” He hummed, amusement written over his face as he looked to Lafayette, who made a face. “You’ll find not everyone in this house is.” 

“It’s so fucking _early,_” Lafayette moaned. “It should be illegal to make teenagers get up at that time.” 

“I don’t mind,” Alexander said timidly. Not like he slept much anyway. That reminded him, he was going to need a new journal soon. Hopefully he could get to a bookshop or steal one from school. And maybe also some instant coffee powder. It was what kept him alive during those times when he wasn’t allowed to go downstairs and make coffee whenever he wanted. 

Lafayette gaped, looking between Alexander and his adoptive father with wide eyes. “You can’t be a teenager, it is simply not possible.” 

Mr and Mrs Washington laughed, and even Alexander couldn’t help but smile. He just couldn’t dislike Lafayette... yet. 

“So, Alexander,” Mrs Washington eventually said, just in time for him to start to feel full. He looked up from his plate, where there still was food, debating how the hell he was going to manage to finish it all. “Why don’t you tell us a little about yourself?” 

Dread filled him. “There’s- There’s not much to tell, ma’am.” 

“Call me Martha, dear. And I’m sure there’s something. What do you like to do?” 

‘Call me Martha’. Alexander almost laughed at the mere thought. Thanks, but no thanks, he’d like to keep his teeth. But then a cold feeling washed over him. “I- I like to write, Mrs Washington,” he replied quietly. 

If she didn’t want him to say _ma’am_ he wouldn’t, though he couldn’t imagine why. He sent out a quiet prayer to the God he’d stopped believing in many years ago that they wouldn’t ask to read what he’d written. The last family had forced him to give him his journals, and then laughed in his face over the fact that he dared to dream he could become _someone_. 

She looked interested, and so did Mr Washington and Lafayette, leaning in over the table. He swallowed. 

“What do you write?” Mr Washington looked at him in interest. 

“...Mostly essays.” He didn’t want to be here. Leaning back in his chair, he stared down in his lap. 

“_Mon _ _ ami,_” Lafayette interrupted. “You don’t need to talk about it if you don’t want to. We understand.” When Alexander looked up at him, wide-eyed, he smiled gently. “Have you finished?” 

After a moment of hesitation, he nodded, glancing at Mrs Washington to check if she got mad he hadn’t eaten it all. To his relief, she didn’t stop smiling. 

“I’m sure you must be very tired, it has been a long day.” 

When he said that, Alexander realized he was right. After all that food and all the excitement of today, his body felt heavy. He hid a yawn behind his hand. 

“Oh of course,” Mrs Washington said. “Go to bed, Alexander.” 

He nodded, standing up at the clear dismissal. “Thank you for the food, Mrs Washington. Goodnight.” 

Annoyance hit him, but he hid it well. He was sixteen, and had taken care of himself since his mother died. He hated when his foster parents told him to go to bed. Particularly after all the times he’d been sent to bed ridiculously early as a punishment. Better than being beaten, but still fucking awful. Especially if it was before dinner. 

“You’re welcome, dear.” She smiled warmly. 

“Sweet dreams,” Mr Washington said. “I’ll pull some threads and see if I can get you written in before the weekend ends.” 

“Thank you, sir.” He was grateful, he really was, but resentment still simmered in him as he turned around and went upstairs, back to his bedroom._ Go to bed, Alexander_. 

How controlling would the Washingtons be, was the question. Alexander almost didn’t want to admit it to himself, but he was scared to find out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I read somewhere that Alexander Hamilton spoke English, French, Hebrew, and Danish. So I wanted to keep that - but added in Spanish since that's such an important language nowadays


	3. Chapter 3

Despite his anxieties, Alexander slept like a log that night. When he sank into the impossibly soft mattress, exhaustion completely overtook him and it had been impossible not to wrap the heavy duvet around himself and, for just a moment, forget his worries. The New York-summer had been cool this year, and to him, it felt like this was the first time he was _warm_ since he left the Caribbean. Logically, that wasn’t the case, but as he yawned and allowed sleep to take him it _felt_ true.

Despite that, he was a light sleeper. When he heard footsteps outside his room, he murmured, already half-awake, turning around so he could crack his eyes open and see the door. The steps had stopped, and something twisted in his stomach. One of his foster mothers had always come in to check he was really asleep and not writing the entire night in a mockery of motherly concern. He’d gotten really good at quickly hiding his notebook and pretending to be asleep during his four months in that home. Fuck, he hated having someone looking him while he slept. For any reason.

But when the steps continued, disappearing down the hallway, he smiled to himself, falling back asleep.

Halfway through the night, he started moving restlessly, a quiet whimper escaping him. His breaths got laboured as he trashed, the weight of the blanket suddenly _suffocating_.

_The wind screamed in his ears, but it wasn’t just that. Even over the sound of the waves crashing against the beach, the cliffs, the buildings, tearing them down, he could hear the _human_ screams. Maybe they came from him. Him or his foster siblings, or the foster parents who had taken him in after his mother’s death. Only him, not his brother. James lived a couple houses over. Was he still alive? Was _Alexander_ still alive or had he died, because this didn’t feel like it could be anything less than Hell_.

_Another wave crashed against the walls of the small house and the building shook from the force. Alexander clutched his foster brother, his closest friend, and didn’t care about the tears running down his face. They were on the attic, and pieces of the roof had been torn off by the wind. The heavy rain smattered against the floor, leaving them sitting in a pool of water. Flashes of lightning cracked the sky in half. His heart pounded so hard he could hear it. _

_As the next wave came, he could feel the house starting to crumble._

Alexander sat up with a gasp. Tears dripped down his face, and he squeezed the bedlinens so hard he almost expected them to tear. Forcing himself to release them, he wiped the tears off his face with the sleeve of his too-small pyjamas. He could still hear the wind and rain in his ears, and the room felt too small suddenly, and too _dark_.

The clock on his bedside table read 03:45 in red numbers. Swallowing a sob, he climbed out of the bed, pulling on a hoodie from the wardrobe and pulling over his head as he quietly went toward the door, pulling with him a notebook and pen on the way. The hoodie was black with yellow text that read _St. Croix Rod Legend in the Making_. Touristy as it was, he treasured it, because it came from one of his islands. After the hurricane, everyone had shared what little they had, and the islanders had been walking around in clothes with stupid tourist logotypes. Especially since US aid was minimal. US territory, and yet they were treated like they didn’t exist in their hour of need. As their island had been torn apart by nature. The bitterness tasted sour.

He glanced around nervously as he left his room, relieved to find it wasn’t locked from the outside. Logically, everyone had to be asleep now. It wasn’t even four in the morning. As he padded down the hallway and downstairs, he hardly dared to breathe in fear of waking his foster family up. Undoubtedly, they’d be mad at him for being up at this hour. _Especially_ if he woke them up.

Breathing a sigh of relief as he entered the kitchen, he flicked on the lights and found what he’d been looking for. On the counter, a fancy-looking coffee machine stood. He turned it on before quietly going through the cabinets until he could find a mug. In difference to the rest to the kitchen, the coffee mug he found was plain and white, which was a relief. Soon he held a big cup of steaming hot black coffee in his hands. The building still felt claustrophobic, and despite how much bigger and sturdier it was than the Stevens’ home, he could imagine the walls shaking, trembling, threatening to fall over and crush him.

It was stupid, he knew that, but he could hardly breathe, hurrying to pull on his shoes. To his relief, the door was one of those that could be unlocked from the inside without a key. Alexander shivered as the cold night air washed over him and chipped for fresh air. And it was _fresh_. Nothing like the New York air. He could taste the lake in the air, though it was undoubtedly sweet, not salt. The dark lake stretched out before him, and he realized in his hurry he hadn’t gone out in the front, but found the back entrance.

_He could run away_. Alexander shook his head as soon as the thought crossed his mind. No, he couldn’t. They’d find him, and they’d be angry, and they’d send him away somewhere where he didn’t have his own room, or a comfortable bed, or where his foster sibling didn’t at least seem to like having him around a _little_.

Sinking down on the porch, he settled in a cross-legged position and pulled his notebook into his lap. There was a porchlight, just enough for him to see the pages, and the words that started to spill out as he drank his coffee, grateful for the caffeine already rushing through him.

_It was like God abandoned us, deciding we weren’t worthy. Nothing existed outside of the wind, the rain, the crumbling of buildings. Like the last days had come, but only for us_.

The pen raced over the paper, the words tumbling out of him as naturally as breathing, the _scratch scratch scratch_ filling his mind, drowning out everything else. When he finished his coffee, he made a quick retour in for more before continuing to write. And write. And write.

The sun rose, but he didn’t notice. Someone called his name, but he didn’t notice. The only thing that existed were the words on the paper. The relief of just letting them go.

But suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder, and Alexander jumped to his feet, heart in his throat. The notebook and pen fell to the ground with a small _thump_. His new foster father towered above him, an eyebrow raised as he looked down at Alexander, and he suddenly felt as small as a child.

He started trembling. Fuckfuck_fuck_ now he knew Alexander had disobeyed, left his room and stolen coffee and _left the house in the middle of the night_ and he was going to get _so hurt_ and-

Mr Washington’s expression softened, and he crouched down slightly, putting them on more equal height. “Breathe, son,” he commanded, voice calm, and Alexander pulled in a sharp breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “One, two three, _breathe_.”

He exaggerated his own breaths, and Alexander managed to follow, his breathing evening out. Once he was breathing normally again, Mr Washington stopped, asking him, “What are you doing outside, Alexander?”

“I’m sorry sir,” he said, words stumbling over themselves, “I’m sorry I know I shouldn’t have but the room felt so small and I didn’t want to go back to sleep and I needed _air_ I didn’t mean to stay out here for so long and I’m so sorry for disobeying please I won’t do it again-”

“Woah,” Mr Washington interrupted. “Calm down. It’s okay, son, I’m not mad at you.”

“You’re not?” he whispered, not believing it for a second.

“I’m not. We got worried when we couldn’t find you, but we’re not mad.” His voice was calm. Almost soothing. Almost. “Are you okay, Alexander? What happened?”

His mouth felt dry. “Please,” he whispered. “I don’t want to talk about it. Please don’t make me.” He stiffened, bracing himself for the blow that was sure to come for refusing to tell him what he’d asked for, but Mr Washington only nodded, smiling sadly.

“Alright,” he said, putting a hand on Alexander’s back, gently steering him toward the door. He reached down, picking up the notebook and pen and for a moment, Alexander panicked before they were handed to him. “Come inside, breakfast is ready and Martha and Gilbert have been searching for you.” As they stepped inside, he called out that he’d found him.

Alexander ducked his head as they entered the kitchen and Lafayette sighed loudly in relief. “_Mon dieu_, Alexander,” he said in that light French accent. “You scared me.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. When he looked up, he found only concern and relief no Mrs Washington’s face. Not a hint of anger. He turned to Lafayette, uncomfortable. “I just forgot the time. I’m sorry.”

Sighing softly, Mrs Washington gestured for him to sit. The table was full of food: crêpes, berries, bread that smelled freshly baked, a whole array of things to put on it, and a huge omelette. “It’s fine, we just got worried. Have some food. What do you want to drink?”

He’d already had two cups of coffee this morning... and too little sleep. “Coffee, please? Black.” His voice was hesitant. Some adults didn’t think teenagers should have caffeine. Mrs Washington just nodded and went to put a cup under the coffee machine. The one he’d brought outside was still there, Alexander realized, forgotten.

Despite only knowing Lafayette for a single night, he realized it was highly uncharacteristic of him to sit this quietly, playing with the food on his plate. Guilt filled him – that was his doing. Swallowing down his pride, he touched Lafayette’s arm. “I really am sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Lafayette smiled at him, somewhat subdued but encouragingly. “It’s fine, _mon ami_. I just got worried...” He fell quiet before continuing. “Worried I scared you away,” he admitted.

Alexander blinked, an emphatic “_No_,” slipping past his lips before he even could think. He shook his head hard, switching to French. He hoped Mr and Mrs Washington weren’t good enough at the language to understand him, especially not if he spoke fast. “You didn’t. You- you made me feel more welcome than I ever have when I arrived to a foster home before. It almost felt... normal.”

It seemed to take the other a few moments to process what he’d said, but then his face broke out into a huge grin. The same grin from yesterday, thank fuck, and he responded in French as well. “_Merveilleux_. It'd be a shame if you ran away before you’ve even gotten to realize how fucking amazing I am.”

Alexander couldn’t help but laugh. It felt good. He couldn’t remember the last time he really laughed _together_ with someone rather than at them for being stupid. “Yeah,” said. “It would, wouldn’t it?”

* * *

The morning, thankfully, passed quickly. They ate breakfast in relative silence once it became clear he didn’t want to talk, and then he could escape back to his room. There was a bathroom just on the other side of the hallway, which he shared only with Lafayette. It had been quite the surprise to walk in there the evening before, finding the bathroom cabinet and the shower shelf absolutely stocked full of hair products and skincare.

His father probably hadn’t used as much as a lip balm in his life, and though Mr Stevens and some of his other foster fathers and brothers had paid a little more attention to their appearance, this was a whole new level. Alexander had had no idea there even _existed_ this many products for men.

Now, however, he just shed his clothes in a pile on the floor before stepping into the shower. The soap smelled lavender, and the shampoo and balsam coconut. It was weird, but once he’d dried his hair off – it was getting long, beneath his shoulders now, which he actually really enjoyed – it felt so incredibly _soft_. Alexander wouldn’t mind getting used to that.

He dressed in the same jeans he’d worn yesterday but a fresh t-shirt with the Eiffel Tower he’d gotten from a thrift store and a pale jean jacket a foster brother had grown out of and had given to him. The elbows were starting to tear, but ah well. He glanced at the bowl with hair ties standing in the bathroom window before deciding Lafayette wouldn’t miss _one_, and tied his hair in a low ponytail.

He spent the morning reading another of his books, a law book he’d borrowed-without-permission from a foster father’s study and the man had never noticed it was missing so he’d kept it, before it knocked on the door. It was definitely weird how Lafayette waited for permission to step in – it was _his house – _but Alexander appreciated it greatly.

The young Frenchman bounced inside, the bun on his head swinging slightly. Today, his jeans were without rips and he had a low-cut purple tank top on with a black leatherjacket instead of the brown one. In the back of his mind, Alexander wondered how his wardrobe looked. He also had a dark-green scarf around his neck, and his grin widened as he saw Alexander’s shirt.

“_Mon ami_ has taste, I see,” he said as he stepped in. “Appreciating the most beautiful city in the world."

Grinning back, Alexander shook his head. “Nah. It was cheap, that’s why I bought it. No other reason.”

Lafayette gasped, putting a hand over his heart. “You _wound me_, Alexander.” He plopped down on the armrest on the armchair Alexander sat in, holding out his phone. There was a text-conversation open on it.

**Farmboy:** _We’ll meet him soon right, Laf?_

**Le Baguette:** _If he wishes to, oui. I’ll ask him._

**Strongman:** _You better. We wanna know who your new brother is, ashtore._

**Le Baguette: ** _I will, I will. Patience, mes amis._

Alexander looked up from the group chat, torn between amusement over the nicknames and confusion. “Do they mean... me? They want to meet me?”

“_Oui_.” Lafayette chuckled. “I told you, they’re dying to meet you. And anyway, we need to pick you up some new stuff. You simply _cannot_ go to school like that. You’re my brother now and I am _always_ fashionable.”

He was about to tell the other he _already had a brother_, but shut his mouth again. He didn’t like it when Mr and Mrs Washington said it, but... When it was Lafayette, he found he didn’t mind it. It was nice, even, to feel like he belonged there, even if it was a lie. Then he realized the rest of what he had said. “No, I don’t. I can’t afford that, I’m fine. I’m not rich like you.”

Throwing his arm over Alexander’s shoulders, Lafayette pulled him close. “You are in the Washingtons’ care now, _Alexandre_. It is their duty to provide for you, and they will do so gladly. _Évidemment _you’re not paying for yourself.”

He stiffened, shaking his head. “No, no I can’t- Lafayette, they shouldn’t-” They’d get mad that he was wasting their money. “I don’t need anything, really.”

“Nonsense. You’re _my_ brother now Alexander, and you look like a hobo. Unacceptable.”

Blushing, he ducked his head, pulling self-consciously at the sleeves of his jacket. “Thanks.”

Seemingly realizing what he just said, Lafayette spluttered. “Oh, _non_, I didn’t mean it like _that_. But wouldn’t you like wearing something _new?_ You’re handsome, _mon ami_. Don’t waste it.”

“Yeah.” He bit his lip, shrugging. “Sure.”

* * *

In the end, Lafayette had forced him into one of his jackets when they left the house soon before dinner, instead of the old jean one. It was annoying for two reasons. The first one was that it was a fucking cropped leatherjacket. Lafayette was so tall that he couldn’t wear his normal-sized ones, but the cropped one was only slightly too short. And secondly, Alexander couldn’t deny that it made him feel good to wear something that nice. He'd checked the tag, and it was a fucking Chanel, because of course it was, and the high quality was evident just touching it. He hadn’t even known Chanel _made_ leatherjackets.

He shoved his hands into the pockets of it as they walked toward the bus stop, listening to the other ramble on about his friends. He learnt John was an artist and played in their school’s soccer team - “Which, by the way, is _much_ more fun than your _American_ football” - and that he apparently could be “such a farmer” sometimes whatever that meant. And that Hercules (whose name he still couldn’t quite understand was _real_) was a boxer and was “_amazing_ at clothes, Alexander,” that he looked much scarier than he was, and that Lafayette sounded like he was going to swoon when he talked about him.

Wincing as he stepped on a pebble, feeling it through his shoe, Alexander just nodded along. Lafayette’s joy was contagious, so he smiled, despite the growing pit of anxiety in his stomach. What if Lafayette’s friends hated him? Why _would_ they like him? He was an annoying know-it-all. Would Lafayette stop wanting to hang out with him if they did? Of course he would, why would he choose the orphan living in his home over his best friends? No one would do that.

As they hopped off the bus outside of the mall, his smile had grown more and more strained, and it felt like his heart was trying to break itself out of his body. Breathing had become almost exhausting as Lafayette steered him toward a coffee shop close to the mall itself. The sign was shaped like a cup of steaming coffee and read _La petite tasse_.

“French, huh?” he commented, forcing a grin.

Lafayette didn’t even pretend to look sheepish, nodding eagerly. “_Oui_. Obviously it has the best drinks and foods in the state of New York! I’ll buy you macarons.”

A bell jingled as they opened the door. The inside was dim. The walls were painted a pale yellow with photos from all over France in black and white hanging in intricate frames on them, and little tables with leather armchairs filled the room. At the back, there was a glass desk where an older woman in a black apron stood, smiling at them as they stepped in. The scent of coffee washed over Alexander.

“Laf!” someone shouted from across the room, and Lafayette’s grin widened yet another bit, which Alexander really hadn’t thought was possible.

Seemingly forgetting Alexander existed, he rushed over the room, throwing himself on top of a muscular boy who was almost as wide-shouldered as Washington. Alexander stared, mouth agape, as he kissed him straight on the mouth.

The boy wore a grey beanie over short black hair and a black t-shirt, and laughed, sweeping Lafayette off his feet, _literally_.

“_Salut, mon amour_,” he heard Lafayette say as he was let down on the floor again, stroking the slightly shorter boy’s cheek. The boy laughed, a rumbling, warm sound. “And John, of course.”

“Gee, Laf,” a second boy said, and Alexander’s breath caught in his throat. “Thanks so much for the attention.” Dressed in a grey hoodie jacket, a black tank top, red jeans and black boots, was the most beautiful boy he’d ever seen. Tan skin, brown curly hair in a thick ponytail, and warm brown eyes that glittered in the light from the chandelier. And _freckles_, he realized as he took a tentative step forward. The boy’s gaze found him, and when he smiled Alexander felt a blush rise to his cheeks. “Is that him?” He asked, jerking his head toward him.

“_Oui_. And you’re quite welcome, John.” He turned to Alexander, waving for him to come forth. “Alexander, this is my friend John Laurens, and-” When his gaze flickered down to his and the muscular boy’s joined hands, Lafayette chuckled. “-and our other best friend, my boyfriend, Hercules Mulligan.”

Alexander opened his mouth, but not a word came out.

“Laf, I think you broke him,” John said, raising an eyebrow, and he felt himself go red.

Hercules stepped closer, and as that broad, tall man towered over him, Alexander felt his heart start working again and he flinched, stumbling backwards until he collided with an armchair. Hercules had frozen mid-step. He met his eyes for a moment before smiling softly, and Alexander watched, shocked, as the tall boy hunched over, making himself smaller for _his_ sake.

He laughed nervously, squeezing the backrest of the chair behind him. “Eh, no, I’m fine.”

“I hope you don’t mind,” Hercules said, holding up his and Lafayette’s hands, their fingers intertwined. Alexander’s eyes widened as he realized what the other must be thinking. As he realized his shock over seeing Lafayette kissing a boy might look quite a lot like homophobia from the outside.

Shaking his head quickly, he gave them a small smile. “No, no, that’s not-” He took a deep breath. God _dammit_ Alexander. Where’s your fancy words when you _want them?_ Bracing himself, he met Hercules’ gaze. “It was a shock. But I don’t mind, of course not. ”

His gaze flickered to John unwittingly.

John grinned. “Glad to hear it, bud.” He held out his hand for Alexander, and he noticed the rainbow bracelet dangling around his wrist. His heart made a flip. “Nice to meetcha. Good luck living with that maniac.” His grin turned sincerer, happier, as he nodded toward Lafayette.

Smiling back, Alexander shook it. Properly, this time, nothing like the one he’d given Mrs Washington. “Alexander Hamilton,” he said. “Nice to meet you too. And you,” he added to Hercules, smile turning somewhat grateful.

Hercules laughed, patting his shoulder. “Back to ya. Now let’s order, eh? I’m starving.”


	4. Chapter 4

“I’ll do it. Alexander, _mon ami_, what do you want?”

He glanced between the taller boy and the drink menu, realizing there was no way Lafayette would let him pay for himself. It both made him feel oddly appreciated at the same time as it unsettled him – the other didn’t _seem_ like the type who was going to demand something in return later, but Alexander didn’t actually _know_ him yet. There was no way to know for sure.

“Americano, _sîl tu plait_,” he replied after a moment of thought. “Extra espresso-shots.” With how little sleep he’d gotten tonight, it was definitely the best way to survive. And nothing new. It probably ran more coffee through his veins than actual blood at this point.

Lafayette raised an eyebrow. “You like your coffee, I see.” He turned to his friends. “The usual?” When they nodded, he sighed, exasperated. “You are so _boring_, both of you. _Carpe diem. _This café is _French._”

That made John grin, and Lafayette threw out with his arms before leaving for the counter.

“Love you too,” Hercules called after him, and Lafayette waved his hand without turning around, seeming to say _I know you do _without actually uttering a word.

As he left, the other two boys both slid into two armchairs around a table. A jacket hung over the backrest of Hercules’. Alexander fiddled with his shirt, not sure where to look. They did seem nice this far – no one had ever made himself smaller to avoid scaring him before. But he didn’t trust it and didn’t trust _them_.

Throwing out an arm in a wide gesture toward the one next to him. “Sit down, Alex. Don’t look so tense, we don’t bite. At least not unless you ask for it.” He wiggled his eyebrows, and Alexander’s cheeks heated up again as he slid into the armchair quietly. _Alex_. No one except his brother had called him that since he was taken from the Stevens.

Hercules slapped John over the head before turning to Alexander, his smile kind. “How’re ya doing at the Washingtons? Has Laf forced you to watch The Hunchback of Notre Dame with him yet?”

The unexpectedness of the questions caught him off guard, and he cocked his head, wondering why on earth he’d want to know that. He shrugged. “My room is really nice. I’ve only had a room of my own in one of my foster homes, and that was the size of a cupboard, basically. Honestly, I think they literally just cleaned out a cupboard to hide me away in since their son didn’t want to share his. Can't blame him. And no, he hasn’t. Will he?”

The two boys exchanged a gaze, and John chuckled. “We’ve seen that movie so many times we could just re-enact it, man. Don’t tell Laf that. Don’t wanna give him any ideas. Plus, he’d insist on being Phoebus, because handsome knight, and probably force me to be Quasimodo so his _boyfriend_ can be the beautiful Esmeralda.”

“I’d make a _stunning_ Esmeralda,” Hercules said, voice completely serious, before breaking into a grin, reaching into the black backpack Alexander hadn’t realized stood by his feet and pulling out a sketch book and a pencil. Soon, he held out a quick sketch, and both John and him broke out into laughter as Hercules smirked.

The drawing had Hercules’ broad, muscular body, but was clad in nothing but a half-unbuttoned loose shirt, a sash, and a skirt with a slit.

“Absolutely _gorgeous_, Herc,” John forced out between giggles.

Tear of glee gathered in Alexander’s eyes as he nodded. He was shocked that any man, especially one who looked as masculine as Hercules, would do such a thing but _fuck_ he loved it. “The prettiest,” he agreed.

Right then, Lafayette returned, carrying a plate full of pastries. He stared at them expectantly as he put out a plate of macarons in front of each of them. Alexander’s jaw almost dropped at the small tower of colourful French sweets that seemingly was _his_.

“What are we laughing about?”

“Me in a skirt, _ashtore_,” Hercules replied smoothly, pulling Lafayette into his lap.

Lafayette smiled softly, settling against him. “You’d look beautiful, _mon amour_,” he said, kissing Hercules’ cheek.

Smiling – the two were really cute together, and it soothed something in Alexander to see them just being so affectionate in _public_ \- Alexander slowly took a yellow macaron. “Ashtore?” he asked, curious.

“I'm Irish-American,” Hercules explained. “Ashtore means _treasure_. ‘Cause Laf is my treasure.”

It was interesting how Lafayette visibly _melted_ when he said that, grabbing Hercules’ jaw and tilting his head up so he could kiss him on the lips. “_Et tu es mien,_” he murmured.

“Aren’t they sickeningly sweet?” John said to Alexander, who had to agree.

“You’re just jealous that you haven’t had a boyfriend since Lee,” Hercules told him.

John made a face, glaring at him. “We don’t _mention_ Lee.”

“Who’s Lee?” The question had fallen out of Alexander’s mouth before he could stop himself. When the other three turned to him, he sank back into the armchair. “You- you don’t need to tell me, of course.”

Disgruntled, John shrugged. “My ex-boyfriend. A fucking coward.”

The woman from behind the counter showed up suddenly, smiling as she put down their mugs on the table. Alexander grabbed his Americano immediately, taking a big gulp of the scalding hot coffee. “_Merci_,” he told her.

As soon as she was gone, John grabbed a cappuccino, Hercules a cup of tea, and Lafayette took the tall coffee drink Alexander doubted it actually even tasted _coffee_ anymore.

Chuckling, Lafayette said, “Charles Lee was the boy our darling Laurens here was, how you say, head-over-heels with – he _is_ pretty, I’ll admit – until the four of us got into a fight and Lee _ran_.”

“A fucking coward, leaving us three against five,” Hercules grunted. “We got a stalemate, but not thanks to him. It was all Laf.”

“You flatter me, _mon amour.” _Lafayette daintily pressed a few of his fingers against his chest just over the shirt’s cleavage, because it had actual cleavage, grinning. “But he’s right. I am _un génie militaire_. It is in my blood.”

John rolled his eyes. “Get used to hearing all about Marquis de Lafayette from the Revolutionary War, pal.” His eyes glittered as he looked at Alexander, and his heart skipped a beat. “Laf absolutely _idolizes_ the dude.”

Looking affronted, Lafayette glared at him. “I do not. I am simply proud to be a direct descendant of such a great man and to share his name. And a great woman, as the Marquise was quite amazing as well.” His expression switched to pride within the blink of an eye and he stared straight at Alexander. “His name was Gilbert as well, did you know? Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette. _Mon pére_ knew from the moment I was born I was going to be great too, and named me after him.”

“That’s cool,” Alexander replied, nibbling on the macaron. It was sweet, and absolutely delicious, melting on his tongue. “I’m not named after anyone what I know. My brother James shares my father’s name though, poor guy. Our father’s an asshole. Haven’t seen him since I was eight, though he writes and calls occasionally.”

“That’s rough, man.” Hercules punched his arm, so slowly and so gently Alexander didn’t even remember to flinch. “But hey, you’ve got us now. I already have these knuckleheads on loco parentis, and you’re one of us now.” Lafayette cleared his throat. “Laf shares custody with me on John,” Hercules corrected himself.

“_Oui.” _Lafayette, still in Hercules’ lap, threw an arm over Alexander’s shoulder and pulled him close. “_Bienvenue à la famille_, Alexander.” Welcome to the family.

Despite his better judgement, Alexander leaned into him. His heart warmed. _Family_. They’d get rid of him eventually, just like everyone else, but maybe he could allow himself to indulge in it just while it lasted.

* * *

Eventually they had to leave the café. John patted his shoulder, grinning. “I think it’ll be interesting to have you in our class, bud.”

Alexander grinned back. “I do too. Do you have debate?” It had been his favourite part of the week in many of his schools. Two hours where he’d get praised for being brilliant instead of hit.

“Of course we do. Looking forward to seeing you in it. Maybe you can put Jefferson in his place.”

“_Hey_,” Lafayette called from where he was walking a couple meters ahead with Hercules. “Thomas is my friend and you know it.”

“He’s still an asshole, Laf. You can’t deny it.”

Lafayette certainly looked like he wanted to, but eventually he just scowled, coming back to grab Alexander’s wrist and pulling him forward. “Don’t be rude. Now, Alexander, where do you want to go? We need to get you new clothes, and a phone – I saw that brick you’re using – and maybe something fun. You like reading, we’ll go to the bookshop.”

Despite asking, he gave him little choice in what they were going to do as he pulled them all into a clothing store, starting to pile up clothes in Hercules’ arms. Alexander stared, speechless, at the ever-growing pile, breaths starting to shorten.

Hercules caught his eye. “Laf, calm down,” he said over the pile of clothing. “Let Alex have a say in it.”

The boy stopped, blushing faintly as he turned around to look at Alexander. “Pardon, _mon ami_. What would you like?”

Alexander could hardly breathe as he stared at the gigantic pile, getting out a small, “Not that. That’s too much.” Mr and Mrs Washington were going to _kill him _if Lafayette got his will through. Lafayette was a rich aristocrat adopted by family friends, and had a good heart. Of course he wouldn’t understand that people didn’t want to spend money on foster kids. Definitely not more than what was absolutely necessary.

That, however, made his foster brother look scandalized. “This is not much! _Mon ami_, you do not have more clothes than you can fit into a gym bag. You need it.”

“Laf,” Hercules said quietly, slowly, and Lafayette sighed.

“_Fine.” _He didn’t look too happy about it, however, and Alexander shivered. Was he angry? Would he be mad he didn’t do what he was told? _Maybe he wouldn’t get to hang out with them anymore_.

“I’ll do it,” slipped out before he could say anything. He could take a beating. He’d taken a lot of beatings. But he didn’t want to lose the first friends he’d had in years so soon. Alexander pursed his lips, nodding. “I’ll try them on. Whatever you want.”

Lafayette lit up, but nonetheless asked, “Are you sure, Alexander? I wouldn’t want to force you. I can get overenthusiastic sometimes.”

“That’s the least you can say,” John muttered where he was lounging on a table full of jeans behind them.

Swallowing, Alexander shook his head. “I’m fine. I’ll do it.”

“_Trés bien!” _Lafayette hounded him into one of the changing stalls, leaving him with the biggest pile of clothing he’d ever seen.

As carefully as if it was made of glass, Alexander picked up one of the shirts. He took the tag, turning it around, and his breath hitched in his throat. _Twenty-five dollars for a t-shirt. What the fuck_. And Lafayette wanted to buy him that. Many of that. His breath shallowed, and he checked the other price-tags. All of it was more expensive than anything he’d worn in his _life_. A hundred for a pair of jeans. Fifty for a wool sweater. Sixty-five for a goddamn grey _hoodie_.

His hands shook as he sank down on the tiny stool inside, staring at himself in the mirror. Messy hair, a borrowed jacket because his own had been too torn, ratty jeans. Shoes so worn they’d break any day. And Lafayette wanted him to put on designer-brands. He heard them talk outside the stall, Lafayette excitedly mentioning how they had to get him a _phone_, and that was even more money and Mr and Mrs Washington would be _furious_ with him for wasting their money and Mr Washington, who was _twice his size_, would hit him and it’d hurt so badly and-

“Alexander?” a soft voice came.

His head jerked up, staring like a deer in headlights into John’s calm brown eyes. He was trembling, he suddenly realized, and somehow he’d ended up on the floor, curled up. John slid inside, closing the curtain behind him and settling down next to him on the floor.

Alexander drew back, curling up tighter, his breaths coming out in short gasps. He stared at John, but all he could see was his many foster fathers. Staring down at him in anger, in _fury_, lifting a hand to slap him. Whimpering, he ducked his head, hiding his face in his knees. All he could hear was whizzing.

A hand settled on his knee, and he jerked, letting out a yelp of pain as the back of his head hit the wall. With startled eyes, he stared at John – _John_, not an angry adult – who smiled softly. “Breathe, Alex. Breathe with me. _Uno, dos, tres.” _He exaggerated his breath in a way that felt familiar, but he didn’t know why. “_Uno, dos, tres_.”

He drew in a sharp breath, the world spinning as he suddenly got enough oxygen. He obediently followed John’s directions until he breathed normally again, leaning against the wall. Realizing what happened, he swore. “Stupid,” he muttered to himself. “It’s so stupid.” Getting so upset over something like _that_.

“Nah,” John said casually, leaning against the wall and closing his eyes. “Hardly. You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?”

He remained quiet.

“My father beats me, you know.” John’s voice was quiet, but it was still easy to hear what he was saying. Alexander flinched, staring at him. His face looked tranquil on the surface, with something strained beneath. Opening his eyes, John smiled slightly. “Not too bad. Not enough to leave marks. Can’t let people know the great _Senator Henry Laurens_ beats his eldest, or that his son’s gay. Heh. For him, the second one is probably worse. I would’ve left, ran away to live with Laf or Herc, but... fuck, I love the bastard. And my little siblings, of course. There’s four of them. Mary is just a baby.”

Alexander stared at him. His heart raced in his chest. The fact that John told him that had to mean something. And then there was the fact that he hadn’t mentioned a mother. He swallowed hard, nodding.

“Yeah. Of the eleven foster homes I’ve been in, only two treated me well. One of them was back at St. Croix before the hurricane. Their son became my best friend. The rest soon grew to resent me for being so goddamn smart, and a smartass, and unable to do what I’m told.” His voice was quiet as a whisper. He squeezed one of the t-shirts. “Or for wasting their money.”

“That sucks, man. You won’t believe me, but the Washingtons are nice people. Good people. I can’t count the times I’ve showed up at their place in the middle of the night after a fight with my father, and they just let me in. Don’t ask questions.” He chuckled darkly. “If they did, I couldn’t go back. They know that.”

He was right. Alexander didn’t believe him. The rules were different for foster children. As kind as someone may be to _normal_ kids, that didn’t mean shit when it came to the system. Few ever met consequences for their actions if they just were careful about it. No bruises in too suspicious places.

Still, he smiled. “Thank you. For sharing that.” Somehow, he didn’t feel quite as lonely anymore, knowing he wasn’t alone, even if it wasn’t quite the same thing.

John patted his knee. “Anytime, buddy. I’ll tell Laf to knock it off, and we’ll only get the necessities, alright?”

He nodded. “Yeah.” When the other made a move to stand, he blurted out, “John?”

Settling back down, John looked at him. “Yeah?”

“How I reacted before... At Lafayette and Hercules kissing...”

“You don’t need to tell me.”

“I’m bisexual.” The word was out before he could regret it. He wanted to tell John that. Wanted him to know, when he’d been so kind to him and told him his secrets. Plus, John liked boys. He _probably_ wouldn’t mind. “That’s why I reacted like that. If I had kissed a boy in public like that, I would’ve gotten my ass handed to me in most of the homes I’ve been in. Including by my own father.”

John was quiet for a moment, enough for Alexander to start sweating, and then he smiled, patting Alexander’s arm. “Then you’re in good company. I'm gay, and Laf and Herc are both pan.”

His heart soared as he stood up, and he couldn’t stop grinning. Acceptance was a beautiful thing, and if this continued, he’d get high on it. He looked down at the piles of clothing, uncertain, before looking back at the other boy.

“Leave it,” John said. “It’s Laf’s fault it’s there so he can clean it up. Or pay someone to clean it up, most likely.”

He nodded. John’s hand was on his shoulder as they left the changing stall behind, and he blinked as he stepped out, finding Lafayette and Hercules by the wall, Lafayette leaning against his boyfriend and fiddling with Hercules’ jacket. Both of them were completely silent.

As soon as they came out, Lafayette’s head jerked up, expression distressed. He took a step toward them before stopping dead, restlessly moving his hands as though he didn’t know what to do with them. It was a strange sight from the usually-so-confident Lafayette. “_Mon ami_, I am _so_ sorry. I didn’t mean to overwhelm you. _Je suis vraiment désolé_. _Terriblement_. _S'il tu plaît, pardonne-moi_?”

“It’s alright,” Alexander replied. And to his surprise, it was. The pure shame on Lafayette’s face told him his foster brother truly meant it. That he regretted it, and actually _cared_ about getting his forgiveness. John squeezed his shoulder.

“_Es-tu_ _sûr?_” Lafayette wringed his hands together, hardly meeting his gaze.

“I’m sure.” Alexander nodded, smiling faintly. “But please, can we… not get so much stuff for me?”

Nodding quickly, Lafayette finally _looked_ at him, evidently still ashamed of himself. “_Bien sûr_, _Alexander_. _Tout à fait_.”

“Hold on, you speak French?” John asked.

“_Oui_.” Alexander’s smile turned more confident. “And Spanish, and some Danish and Hebrew.”

With a playful groan, Hercules stepped forward, shaking his head. “Fucking perfect. Now both Laf and John have another friend who speak their native languages. Everyone but me. Fuckin’ rude.” But he grinned, reaching out to ruffle Alexander’s hair. “That’s damn impressive, man. Five languages, and you’re sixteen?”

“He is,” Lafayette confirmed, his confidence returning, and he draped his arms over Hercules’ and Alexander’s shoulders. “You’re still an old man in comparison to the rest of us, _mon amour_.”

“Old man?” Alexander questioned, confused.

Chuckling, Hercules nodded. “I’m seventeen. Got into some trouble when I was younger, had to retake a grade. So now I’m here with you children.”

“Children?” John boxed him on the arm. “Asshole.”

“_My_ children. Who I love very much. Come and give your old man a hug.”

Alexander laughed as Hercules pulled a flailing, protesting John into a tight embrace, and though he could still feel a hint of panic in the bottom of his stomach, he decided that yes, he could allow himself this. As long as it lasted, he’d enjoy having friends to the max.


	5. Chapter 5

For the first time in years, Alexander didn’t want to go home not because he didn’t want to see his foster family, but because he didn’t want to leave his friends. Tearing himself from John and Hercules had been difficult. When was the last time he’d laughed so much? But Lafayette was with him, and the bus trip home was almost as fun, even with the two of them fully packed with paper bags. 

They’d ended up with a compromise. Alexander’s wardrobe was fuller than it had ever been, and he had an actual smartphone for the second time in his life, though not one of the most expensive models. He was still in awe over that. He’d be able to keep contact with the world around, use the _ internet _, anywhere he wanted. He didn’t have to wait until he could get on the school computers anymore. It was incredible. He’d had one for a couple months when he lived with the Stevens – his mother hadn’t been able to afford it for both her sons, though James had had one since he was so much older and searching for a job – but it had disappeared in the hurricane. 

He was still afraid of what the Washingtons were going to say, but not as much. John had said they were nice people. Hopefully they wouldn’t mind him buying him common necessities… and some other things. Hercules had caught him eyeing a beautiful leather-bound notebook in the bookshop, and his new friends had basically forced him to let them buy it for him. 

His fingers itched at the thought. God, he couldn’t wait until he got to write in it with his fountain pen. He already had ideas, he could write down his day, or an essay about how stupid it was with ridiculously expensive clothing just because it was a fancy _brand_, or talk about the importance of free access to information. Now when he had it himself, when he had a proper _phone_, he was really feeling that one. 

The thought sent a thrill through him and he let out a small laugh where he sat leaned against the bus window, the glass cool against his skin. It was reminiscent yesterday when he came to the Washingtons, but with Lafayette chattering on about them going to school together and how he’d introduce him to _everyone_, it was also completely different. 

Alexander blinked as he realized what the feeling was. Peace. He felt at peace. Satiated, since they’d stopped at a fast food-place for lunch, and happy, and _excited_. Excited, for real, about going to school and seeing his new friends again. Not just to get out of the house, even if that was a pro. 

“-go swimming in the lake,” Lafayette said in French. “Alexander, do you swim?” 

He chuckled. “I grew up in the Caribbean, Laf.” At some point today, he’d started using the nickname as well. “Of course I swim.” 

“It does not mean you would. I had a friend home in France who lived just next to the Riviera and she was terrified of water. Ah, I should write her, I have not spoken with her in years.” 

That gave Alexander a start. “…You can do that? Write someone you haven’t spoken to in years?” 

“Of course! If you want to talk to them, chances are they want to talk to you too. Why not? Do you have anyone you want to write?” 

He was quiet for a moment before nodding. “Edward Stevens,” he replied hesitantly. “My first foster brother, at St. Croix. He was my best friend before CPS came and sent all the orphans to the mainland after the hurricane.” Not before multiple weeks had passed though. 

Lafayette patted his shoulder, smiling. “Then I’m sure he’d love to hear from you. Write him, or call him. I made sure your phone plan covers long-distance calls since you mentioned you have a brother.” 

“Hey!” someone called, sounding annoyed, and both boys looked up to see an older red-haired woman staring at them angrily. “This is America. Stop speaking Spanish.” 

Both of them stared at her incredulously long enough that she grew red in the face. 

“Ma’am,” Alexander said slowly, as though he was speaking to a child, “_mon __ami _here is _French_. We’re speaking _French_. Because he’s from _France_. And the United States do not have an official language, thus is English not our country’s official language, and even if it _ was _ that it would merely mean it is the language used in official documents and that every child has a right to an education in the language. A language being official does in no way make it the only language permitted to be spoken within a country’s borders. And even if it did, I repeat, the United States of America does not have an official language at all and therefore it is completely irrelevant which language anyone speaks.” 

The woman went red from fury at being contradicted. Right then, the bus stopped, and Lafayette stood up, exaggerating his accent until it was almost difficult to understand what he was saying. “Our _arrêt__ de bus, mon __ami_. _Maman _and _papa_ will be waiting.” 

“_Allons-y _,” Alexander replied, biting his cheek to keep himself from grinning. Let’s go. He nodded to the woman as they passed by. “And by the way, he’s a direct descendant of one of the heroes in the Revolutionary War.” 

Just as they jumped off the bus, she screamed, “Go back to where you came from!” and they stared at each other for a moment before breaking into laughter. 

Clutching his stomach, Alexander grabbed onto Lafayette’s arm, using it to stay upright. Soon, he was chipping for breath, red in the face, and his foster brother wasn’t much better off. Eventually, he managed to pull in a deep breath. “Hear that? Go back to France, Laf.” 

“How rude. Without my family she wouldn’t even have a country.” Lafayette giggled as they picked up the bags they’d dropped during their fit of laughter and made their way back toward the Washingtons’ house. Manor. Whatever the fuck to call it. “She should really be more grateful.” 

Nodding in agreement, Alexander looked at the enormous building as they approached through the main gates. He swallowed, squeezing the bag handles. If Lafayette noticed his building nervousness, he didn’t comment, for which he was grateful. 

The house was quiet when they went inside, and it set of every alarm in his head. Instinctively, he held his breath as he tried to hear whether they were here or not, stopping inside the hallway. Lafayette simply went on with his business, kicking his boots off. As he called Alexander with him upstairs, he followed, still listening. 

“Where’s Mr and Mrs Washington?” he asked as they dropped the many bags on his bed. As Lafayette dragged everything out of its bags, he felt a drop of anxiety in his stomach. So many things. There was no way he’d ever owned anything that cost as much as these new clothes and books and his phone did together. The richest time of his life had been with the Stevens’, and even that seemed like nothing in comparison. It scared him. If they continued to spoil him like this, how was he going to handle it when they sent him to his next home – or a group home, he knew that after this many chances that was a very real possibility. When he went back to having little to nothing. 

“_Aucune__ idée _ ,” Lafayette replied. No idea. “The garden maybe, or at our neighbours’.” He grinned as he threw some of the clothes up to the pillow. “I recommend you wear that at Monday. Two days until school, _mon __ami_. Are you excited?” 

He nodded, grateful for the help. “Yeah. I have _ no _ idea what to expect, though. Are everyone as rich as you?” 

“_Non_, not Hercules, for example.” He shrugged. “John is, and _mes__amis _Thomas and James too, and then there’s the Schuyler sisters, but not everyone.” 

“Okay. Okay.” He sat down on the bed, smile strained. “Just. At least five rich as fuck people at your school, probably more. No stress. That’s just more than I’ve ever met before in my life. Fuck, I’d never met _one_ before I came here.” 

“Ah, _se __détendre_.” Lighten up. Lafayette patted his shoulder. “They’re all very fun people. _Tu les __aimeras_. And they’ll love you too! You’re smart and funny, just look at how you dealt with that rude woman on the bus.” 

He smiled hesitantly. “I hope you’re right.” Though he doubted it. Lafayette was just being idealistic. People didn’t like Alexander. Didn’t like his loud, smart mouth or willingness to fight. _And _they looked down on him because he was poor, a bastard, an orphan. And an immigrant, for that matter. At least in their eyes, even though he was a born US citizen. 

“Of course I’m right. I’m always right.” Shoving the remaining clothes into a pile at the foot of the bed, he climbed up behind Alexander. “Can I braid your hair? I feel you’d look_ trés __bien_ in a French braid.” 

“Oh, uh-” Surprised, he fumbled for words before mutely nodding, and Lafayette’s nimble fingers immediately pulled the hair tie out of his ponytail. Surprisingly gentle, he combed through Alexander’s hair with his fingers and Alexander closed his eyes, letting his head fall back at the soothing feeling of someone working with his hair. 

“You need a haircut,” Lafayette noted as he started braiding, working his hair over and pulling at the strands. “You have split ends.” 

Alexander let out a small sigh of pleasure, laughing softly. “You don’t say? Don’t think it's been cut in over a year, since one of my foster mothers got sick of it being so long and just sat me down in the kitchen so she could get rid of all of it.” 

Somehow he felt, rather than heard, the outrage in Lafayette’s gasp and he bundled up Alexander’s hair in his fist. “_Sacrilège_. Alexander, that is the worst thing I’ve ever heard.” 

“It was pretty terrible,” he agreed, “though I wouldn’t call it the _worst._ I hid under my blanket until Mr Davis slapped me for acting like a girl by caring so much about a haircut.” 

It wasn’t until Lafayette stopped dead, hands freezing in his hair, that he realized what he’d allowed to slip out. Slapping his hands over his mouth, Alexander’s gaze flickered back but he couldn’t see the other’s expression. He clenched the fists, anxiety curling in his stomach. Would he be angry? Disgusted? Now he knew what a mess he was, so his foster parents had to hit him for him to learn anything at all. 

What felt like an eternity passed, though it probably only were a few seconds, before Lafayette spoke again. His voice was impossibly soft. “I am so sorry, Alexander. That’s horrible.” Swiftly, he finished the braid off with the tie before using Alexander’s shoulders to turn him around. He moved obediently but stiffly, and chipped for breath in shock when Lafayette hugged him tight, pressing Alexander’s face against his chest. “I can’t believe they did that to you.” 

He just sat there at first before slowly, hesitantly, hugging Lafayette back. “It’s fine. I’ve had worse. But don’t tell Mr and Mrs Washington, please.” His voice turned pleading, and he hated it. Hated how little control he had over his own life. How he was completely reliant on other’s goodwill. “Please. I don’t want them to know what a fuckup I am.” 

“Oh, _mon __ami _. You’re not a... what did you call it, a fuckup? I haven’t heard that word before.” Lafayette hugged him tighter before releasing him. “It is not your fault people have mistreated you. But you are very strong to have survived it. Small but strong, and brave like a lion.” 

Alexander couldn’t meet his gaze, instead just staring at Lafayette’s chest, right where the shirt ended to reveal brown skin. It was kind of him to say, but it wasn’t true. 

Lafayette pulled him into his side in a one-armed hug again. “You are indeed very brave, _mon petit lion_. But you don’t have to be anymore. You’re here now.” 

It was a nice sentiment. Alexander didn’t believe it, but he closed his eyes and pretended he did. 

He didn’t know how long they sat there before it knocked on the door, and after getting a nod from Alexander, Lafayette called “Enter!” 

As the door slid open, he cracked on eye open again in time to see Mr Washington steps inside. As he got a good view of him, his eyes flew open, and he stared. Instead of the elegant clothing he’d worn yesterday, his foster father stood there in dirt-covered jeans and a flannel shirt with rolled up sleeves. He smiled at them, chuckling as his eyes met Alexander’s. “I’ve been working in the garden,” he explained, apparently seeing his confusion. He blinked. He worked in his own garden? They didn’t have a gardener? _Why? _ They certainly seemed like the kind of people who would have one. “Did you have fun at your shopping trip, boys? What did you think of John and Hercules, Alexander?” 

Sitting up straight, Alexander smiled nervously. “It was fun, sir. And they were very nice.” He didn’t know how to tell the man how much of his money he’d wasted – not that he needed to, Mr Washington could see the piles of new stuff surrounding him. He bit his lip as his gaze travelled over it, bracing himself for anger. 

“I’m glad to hear it,” he said, startling him. His mouth opened slightly in shock. “And I’m glad you got everything you need.” 

“He needs a haircut though,” Lafayette cut in, gesturing with the short braid. 

The corner of Mr Washington’s mouth twitched. “Good to know. You or Martha can decide where to bring him.” His eyes glittered as he smiled at Alexander, pulling a hand over his bald head. “I don’t exactly have experience with the hair stylists in town.” 

Alexander snorted, pressing his hand over his mouth. His gaze flickered up to Mr Washington, but he relaxed when he saw he wasn’t offended. It had seemed like a joke but it was hard to tell sometimes. Adults weren’t particularly trustworthy. 

Seemingly pleased, Mr Washington looked at the piles of clothing at the bed. “Just make sure to clean that up before dinner, boys. And Alexander, Principal Franklin will be coming over tomorrow to get your paperwork done. A special favour, since he’s a friend of mine. You’ll be able to go to school on Monday no problems.” 

His eyes widened, a smile breaking out on his face. They’d do that, have a meeting to get his paperwork done on a _ Sunday_, for _him? _ “Thank you, sir,” he breathed. “I really appreciate it.” 

“Of course, Alexander. I’m very pleased with your eagerness to go there.” 

_ He- he was pleased? With him? _ Alexander stared at him in disbelief. No. That couldn’t be true- But he’d said it. Why would he say something like that if he didn’t? It wouldn’t make any sense. “I’m- I’m glad, sir. I really enjoy school.” 

Mr Washington smiled. “I can imagine. Like I said, we’ve seen your grades. You seem brilliant. Oh, speaking off, you’ve yet to see the rest of the house, have you?” 

He shook his head. Honestly, he’d forgotten about that. Just the parts he’d been in seemed like a complete home to him. Bigger than his own house, that was for sure. Though he supposed someone else owned it now, if it had survived the hurricane. 

“Do you want to have a look around now?” 

He stood immediately, nodding. “Yessir.” In all honesty, he was tired, but first of all he wasn’t going to tell his foster father no because of such an irrelevant thing, and he _ was _ curious on how the rest of this enormous estate looked like. Especially the library. He was almost ready to pray to God that he’d get to visit the library. Almost. 

That bastard didn’t deserve his prayers though. 

“You don’t have to call me sir, Alexander,” Mr Washington told him as he gestured for him to come with him and they went down the hallway in a direction he hadn’t been yet. “George works just fine, though I won’t stop you if it makes you more comfortable.” 

Flinching, he shook his head quickly. “No thank you, sir,” he replied quietly, already feeling the phantom pains being rude would earn him. He thanked his (un)lucky star Mr Washington hadn’t _ ordered _ him to stop. He'd called his first foster father at the mainland by his first name once when he got angry, and they’d been forced to call in sick for him after. The mere thought made him wince. 

Mr Washington sighed quietly but didn’t insist, for which he was grateful. 

Just like he’d imagined, the house was much bigger than anything he’d seen before. He listened to Lafayette tell him about movie nights with his friends in the fucking _ home cinema _ they had in “the former smoking lounge,” and Mr Washington showed him his wife’s sewing room and their own bedroom, telling him that he was free to come in there at any time of the day if he needed them. Which, sweet thought, but there was _ no way _ Alexander was going to take him up on that. Even if he hadn’t known waking them up would never end good for him, he hadn’t even done that at home back when his father was still around, once he got old enough to realize why it was a bad idea. If he had a nightmare, he’d go to James rather than risk walking in on his parents’... _activities _ . Walking in on the _Washingtons _seemed like a good way to scar him for life, mentally _and _physically. 

And then. Then they reached the library. Mr Washington opened one of the white double-doors for him and Alexander’s jaw fell to the ground. The room was as big as any in the house, and the walls were covered from _floor to ceiling_ in stocked-full bookshelves. On the few spots they weren’t, ancient maps hung on the wall in huge frames. A few leather armchairs and tables in dark wood were spread out over the floor. 

“Holy _shit _,” he breathed quietly but emphatically, and Mr Washington chuckled. His cheeks grew red and he glanced at him nervously. Right. He’d corrected Lafayette’s swearing. Would he mind? 

“It is pretty great,” Mr Washington agreed. “And you’re free to read or look at anything you want, of course, as long as you’re careful not to break anything.” 

Hardly able to believe his eyes, Alexander turned around to stare at him in awe. “Really, sir?” 

“Really.” Warm amusement laced Mr Washington’s voice, and for once, he was too happy to distrust it. “If you want, you can stay here until dinner.” 

“But-” Lafayette began protesting, though he fell silent when his father put a hand on his shoulder. 

Alexander nodded quietly, turning back to the room. “Thank you, sir. Really.” He wandered over to one of the bookcases. 

The door closed behind him again, but he hardly noticed. 

The Washingtons’ library was beyond amazing. That was the only way Alexander could describe it that gave it any amount of justice. It seemed like the kind of place that should only be open to professors at a university, not to a family and those they deigned invite – like him. For some reason. He was breathless as he pulled his fingers over the backs of the books, many of them leather-bound and decorated with gold letters. Biographies, a signed copy of _Sherlock Holmes_, a collection of letters from _the first president of the United States_, and so, so much more. 

This was heaven. He must’ve died and gone to heaven. There was no other way this was real. His arms were absolutely stocked full with literature as he eventually made his way over to the writing desk in one of the corners, pulling up one of the first ones: an analysis on the Bank of the United States and how it affected their country. 

He found a mostly-empty notepad and a couple fountain pens in one of the drawers, pulling them up and making notes as he read. Without question, most would’ve cramped but if there were any muscles of his that were in perfect condition it was his writing muscles. The notepad filled up with his scrawls, rushed handwriting. If he was going to use it again he’d rewrite it, cleaner and more properly. He found another, in the back of his mind hoping Mr Washington wouldn’t mind, and started filling up as well. 

After what might’ve been hours, or it might’ve been minutes, the doors creaked. Footsteps came, and then a _thunk_ as someone put down a tray on the desk. First then did Alexander look up, finding himself looking at Mrs Washington. His gaze slid down to the tray, on which he found a big bowl of soup and two pieces of baguette. 

“What’s this, ma’- Mrs Washington?” he asked, confounded, and she laughed. 

“George suspected we weren’t getting you out of here tonight, but you need to eat, dear. I don’t want to see a speck left when I come to get the tray later.” 

“O-oh.” How... how did he deal with that? Why didn’t they come to drag him down for dinner no matter if he wanted to or not? Maybe they were happy he was here instead of intruding on their family time... Probably. 

The scent of the soup filled the air, and it smelled absolutely _divine_. He smiled faintly at her. It was a relief they would allow him to stay by himself... even though he felt a pang of hurt as well. Just another family who didn’t actually want him around. He looked back to the books, and then the soup again. At least they weren’t planning on starving him. And he had these wonderful books. 

He nodded. “Thank you, Mrs Washington. You’re very kind.” 

Surprise shone in her eyes, but she beamed at him. “You’re welcome. I’ll leave you alone with the books. Don’t stay up all night.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! I'm going I'm moving in a week, and college is starting, and my birthday is on Saturday and we're going away for it, and I will try to update this once a week at least but due to everything happening I can't promise anything since so much is going on right now. But yeah I'm doing my best!


	6. Chapter 6

His back ached terribly when he woke up. So did his neck. And his fingers. Murmuring nonsense, Alexander shifted, and he grabbed for his pillow, squeezing it tight. Something tumbled out from his hand, and he cracked an eye open, finding a black fountain pen lying beside him. Must've been in his hand- He sat upright, breath catching in his throat as he stared at his room. _How the fuck did he get there?_ He had _zero_ memories of making the trip back to his bedroom from the library... which meant he either sleepwalked, which had never happened before, or someone had _carried him_.

Mortification hit him and his face grew red. Fuck. One of the Washingtons must’ve done it. Must’ve carried him there. Likely Mr Washington. “Fuck,” he repeated again, this time aloud. “Fuck fuck _fuck.” _

He flung the pillow into the wall, watching it tumble to the floor. His heart flipped as he got a look on himself in the mirror. His hair was a mess, curly strands having been pulled from the braid, and the bags under his eyes were almost black. To his relief he found he was still in his clothes from yesterday: at least no one had deemed it necessary to put him in pyjamas. If they’d done that, he might’ve just flung himself out the window. Self-consciously, he pulled up his t-shirt, tracing one of the scars on his hip. It was a subtle one, thank god, hard to spot if you weren’t actively searching for it. The worst ones were on his back.

There was a reason he never took off his shirt around other people.

Swallowing hard, Alexander put his feet down on the cold floor. He would have to face them eventually. Couldn’t stay in his room forever, no matter how badly he wanted to. He went over to his wardrobe, pulling out some of his new clothes. Fuck, he needed a shower if he was going to tame the mess on his head. Slinging a pair of pale jeans and a black shirt over his shoulder, he cracked the door open, making sure no one was there, before rushing over to the bathroom.

The shower was quick, a habit he’d developed in another of his foster homes – they had been five foster children sharing one bathroom, and anyone who took unnecessary time showering before school would get beaten by the others. He’d certainly been the one beating someone else his fair share of times in that house. Especially that insufferable asshole Jeremy. The mere thought of Jeremy made him grimace. Had almost been worth being sent on his way, despite that being one of the homes that saw the value in keeping them well-fed, just to get away from him.

He dried off his hair, pointedly not looking at the mirror, before glancing at the countless hair products Lafayette had on one of the shelves. Alexander was quite curious what even was the point of most of them. Shrugging, he pulled on his clothes. But before he stepped outside, he rested a hand against the doorknob, taking a deep breath. The mortification came back as he thought of what they’d done. How Mr Washington of all people had carried him back to his room when he was asleep. Why didn’t they just _wake him up?_ Or, for that matter, how the fuck didn’t he wake up by himself when someone touched him in his sleep? How tired had he _been?_ It was unsettling. If he couldn’t trust himself to wake up when someone was _touching_ him in his sleep, then he wouldn’t know if someone was in his room, searching it or doing whatever, when he was asleep either.

When he came downstairs, Lafayette was lounging in one of the armchairs in the living room, which was only next to the staircase He looked up from his phone when he heard the footsteps, and grinned. “_Bien dormi, _Alexander?”

Ducking his head, cheeks growing red, he nodded. “My neck hurts.”

Lafayette chuckled, standing and joining him on his way to the kitchen. “That might be because you fell asleep on a pile of books, _mon ami_. I found you like this after midnight and George had to carry you back to your room. Slept like a log.”

“Why?” he questioned, biting his lip. “Why did he do that? You could've just woken me up.”

Lafayette shrugged. “He didn’t want to wake you. You looked so peaceful. You enjoyed our library?”

Though his face was still bright, he smiled. “_Oui_. It’s incredible, I’ve never even dreamt of being allowed in such a place. I hardly even dared touch anything at first.”

“In that case, I do think you’ll enjoy my own family library,” Lafayette mused. “Just you wait. We always go home to France every summer. Spend a few weeks in Paris and some in Chavaniac-Lafayette. The library at my châteaux is as old as the building itself. You’ll love it.”

_You’ll love it_. Alexander smiled, trying to hide any sadness in it. It was... endearing, almost, how Lafayette seemed to certain he would be there in a year. That his foster parents wouldn’t grow sick of him long before that... or even if they didn’t, that they’d want him to come with them to _France_. If he actually was here still – which was _highly_ unlikely – they'd just leave him on his own while they went on vacation. That was how this worked. How being a foster child worked.

“Having a family library sounds nice,” he said instead. “_Maman_ never had time to open a book at all, and James wasn’t very interested. I was the only one in the family who read.” He shook his head. “And it’s _ridiculous_ that you have a castle in France. A _castle_.”

Lafayette chuckled, elbowing him. “Ah, but _mon petit lion_, what else would a one of the noblest families in France live?”

“It’s even _more_ ridiculous you’re nobility,” he pointed out, throwing out with his arms. “And that we’re living under the same _roof_. You’re a fucking French marquis, and me? I’m a Caribbean orphan bastard whose meagre inheritance was destroyed in a hurricane.”

“A very _charming_ orphan bastard,” Lafayette replied cheerfully, “who I’m delighted to share a roof with. You’ve only been here two days and things are already more exciting.”

The genuineness in that comment made him smile, and then they entered the kitchen. Mrs Washington stood by the sink, polishing the window behind it with a rag. When they entered, she smiled, her eyes glittering in amusement. “I see you’ve finally woken up.”

He stiffened, stopping in the doorway before forcing himself to step forward, and he nodded. “Yes, Mrs Washington.”

Lafayette gave him a _look_ before opening the pantry, pulling out some bread and plopping it into the toaster.

“Did you have fun in the library?”

Nodding, he glanced down at the floor. He shoved his hands behind his back once he realized he was fidgeting. “It’s brilliant. I’m sorry I fell asleep in there.”

Her smile softened. “Don’t be, dear. George is thrilled you loved it so much you were in there so late. And you’re hardly the first one to do it. I can’t count the amount of time I’ve had to drag my husband out from there at three in the morning.” She nodded toward the coffee machine. “If you want coffee, you can just take it. Mugs are in the second cabinet to the left over the countertop. Principal Franklin will be here in two hours for lunch, so don’t eat too much breakfast.”

Of course, Alexander already knew where the cups were after the night he’d spent outside, but he murmured out a thank you and grabbed one before walking in a big arch around her to get to the machine. He turned it on, and watched Lafayette put out some sandwich-stuff on the table, probably for him. It bewildered him, but on the same time he wasn’t that surprised anymore. It was Lafayette, after all.

As soon as his coffee was done, he took a big gulp of the scalding hot beverage and relaxed ever so slightly. He hadn’t realized quite how tense he was until some of it went away. When he glanced at the clock, his eyes widened. _Ten_. It was ten AM. When was the last time he’d slept in so long? How late had he been up?

“You think this is late?” Lafayette said, and he realized he’d said that out loud. “John will sleep until mid-afternoon if you let him. Not that anyone will, that is too much.”

Mrs Washington laughed, dunking her rag in the water in the sink. “Gilbert, I’ve woken you up in time for lunch. You’re not one to talk.”

“Ah, but that was last year, Martha,” Lafayette pointed out, and Alexander regarded the exchange in fascination. “When I was fifteen and _trés fatigue_. I am older now.”

“That’s true,” she hummed. “Maybe I should make you do more chores, then. If you’re so grown-up.”

His eyes widened, and he spluttered. “Not _that_ grown-up!”

Alexander raised his hand to his mouth, coughing to hide his laughter. Fuck, Lafayette was spoiled. And he was still waiting to get to know what kind of housework he’d be expected to do while staying here, to pay for his keep. His eyes flickered between them, curious.

“You look like you want to ask something, _mon petit lion?_” Lafayette quickly said, steering the conversation away from any mention of him doing chores. Alexander smiled slightly. He liked that nickname already. Certainly the best nickname someone had ever given him, not counting _Alex_, if that could even be called a nickname at all.

Still, his eyes flickered up to Mrs Washington. He much would’ve preferred to ask this some other time, without her or her husband present. But he couldn’t exactly pretend like nothing, now when she was looking at him expectantly.

“I just… wondered how long you’ve been living here?” His voice was quiet.

Lafayette nodded, as though this was a very good question that required a thoughtful answer. “My father died when I was three, and I inherited his titles, though my mother got the estate. She moved to Paris, though, and I lived with my paternal _grand-mére_ at the châteaux. When I was eleven, I moved to Paris to _mére_ and _grand-pére_, and when I was thirteen, they died both died.” He’d sat down on the top of the table now, pursing his lips. Alexander simultaneously wanted to tell him it was fine, he didn’t need to know, and urge him on. So he stayed quiet. “_Mére_ already knew she might die, so she’d written George and Martha up as my guardians-to-be, if the worst happened. Two months later, I was in America. So I’ve been here for about three years.”

Alexander couldn’t help the pang of jealousy he felt. What a luxury, to have someone take him in and keep him. And being _able_ to keep him, first and foremost. The Stevenses would have, he knew that, if the hurricane hadn’t come and the aid workers hadn’t decided to send him overseas.

He nodded quietly, grabbing the pieces of bread plopping out of the toaster and buttering it up.

“You know, Alexander,” Mrs Washington said, and he looked up, “we go back to France every summer, so Gilbert still gets to experience his homeland.” He nodded – he’d gathered that. “We could travel to the Virgin Islands too, maybe over the winter holidays. If you’d like that.”

The toast fell out of his hand, landing upside down on the table.

“_Oooh_,” Lafayette exclaimed, clapping his hands together. “Why didn’t I think of that? _C’est brilliant_. Alexander, wouldn’t that be fun?”

Unable to get a word out, Alexander just stared at them. His eyes were round as plates, and conflicting thoughts filled his head, impossible to sort out. _Home_. _She’d offered to bring him home, on a visit. Back to St. Croix, or Nevis, or both. He had a chance to go home. _

His breathing shallowed. _Edward Stevens. The hurricane. His mother’s grave. His father, still out there somewhere. When was the last time he’d heard from him, January? James. James. _Home_. _Standing abruptly, he twisted around, rushing out of the kitchen, breakfast forgotten. Mrs Washington called his name, but he didn’t stop, even though he knew he should.

Alexander didn’t know why but he felt like crying, yet his eyes were completely dry. He felt like laughing, but not a single noise made its way past his lips. Then he was outside, down by the lake, and he sank to the ground, hiding his face in his knees. The green grass was soft, and the air smelled of water, but _freshwater_, and it was all _wrong_. A dry sob heaved his chest.

Fuck, he’d honestly never thought he’d go back there again. Not until he was older, and successful, and rich, at least. And he didn’t know if the offer had been genuine, he _couldn’t understand_ why Mrs Washington would offer it, but it had sounded like she meant it and the idea of going back terrified him, yet he wanted it so _badly_.

“Fuck, damn, shit-” he muttered, spitting out every swearword he knew of, and that was quite a few. His father had never had a filter about what was appropriate to say around children. Especially not his own. Neither had James, which probably was James Sr.’s fault. What if they actually brought him back to St. Croix? Back to, what, his first foster family, to his _brother_. His big brother who he hadn’t seen since he was fourteen. Who he never was really close with to begin with, especially not after the death of their mother.

His older brother who he’d cried for when things went sour in his foster homes, when he wanted nothing more than to go back to St. Croix, to someone who was _family_.

“That’s quite vocabulary you’ve got there,” a certain French voice said, and he jumped.

“_Enculer_,” he swore, twisting around to see Lafayette standing there, thankfully alone.

Switching to French, Lafayette asked, “Do you want to be alone? Or can I stay?”

He shrugged, staring out over the lake. After a moment, the other sat down next to him, a reasonable distance between them but still easy to reach. Neither of them spoke for a while.

“It’s all wrong,” Alexander finally whispered, also in French. It was comforting to speak his mother’s language. When Lafayette turned to him, brow furrowed, he gestured toward the lake. “This. It’s a lot of water. But I can see the land on the other side. It smells sweet, there’s not a hint of salt in the air. There’s… there’s pine trees. Pine trees, not palms. And I’m cold. I’m always cold. I miss the sea. I miss the _warmth_.”

Lafayette nodded slowly. “I know. It’s different. I miss my home too. New York is beautiful, and I love it here, I love America, but I miss seeing the centuries gone in the city. The history of my people. This is not an old city, not in comparison to Paris.”

They sank into silence once more, but it was a comfortable one. Sorrow mixed with longing and fear still plagued Alexander, but it was comforting, that someone knew how it felt. To love the country you were in (despite everything), but still desperately missing the place you had come from, and everything you had left behind. Technically, Alexander hadn’t left much. Nowhere near as much as Lafayette had. He didn’t have a castle, he hardly had a family, and he didn’t own shit. But he left behind the safety of the familiar. His childhood home.

The waves lapped quietly against the beach, and the breeze rustled the trees, slowly growing stronger. It started pulling at them, whisking his hair into his face, and he rubbed his arms. Goosebumps plopped up on his skin.

“C’mon, _mon petit lion_,” Lafayette finally murmured, taking his hand and pulling him up on his feet. “Let’s go inside. I’ll brush your hair again before Principal Franklin arrives. We want to make a good first impression, no?”

Squeezing his lips together, he allowed himself to be led back into the house. That much was true. As soon as they entered, he saw Mrs Washington in the hallway, on the phone, and she cut herself off immediately when the door closed, eyeing him with obvious relief. Alexander flinched. She was calling Mr André, no doubt. Telling him they couldn’t handle him, that he was too broken. She’d given him the most generous offer in his life, and he _ran away_.

He couldn’t look at her as they passed by her. A hand touched his arm, and he jerked back. His back hit the wall.

“Oh-!” Mrs Washington said as she saw his reaction. “Alexander, are you alright? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

_Why was she apologizing to him?_ “I’m alright, ma’am.”

She opened her mouth as if to protest, and he realized he’d called her _ma’am_ again, but then she just smiled weakly. “I’m glad to hear it. George is on his way here with Principal Franklin, will you boys go up and brush your hair?”

“_Bien sûr_, Martha. C’mon, Alex.”

Bringing him upstairs, Lafayette brought him into his own room this time, and Alexander looked around in awe. Woah. The other hadn’t been kidding when he said he had the French flag painted all over one of his walls. There was a queen-sized canopy bed with its gable against the left wall, and a carved writing desk. The other walls were a slightly darker shade of white, and absolutely stocked full of photos. Of Lafayette and the Washingtons, of Lafayette, John and Hercules, of Lafayette and some people he assumed were his family in France. There was also a huge photo of a black horse on the wall, and Lafayette grinned as he caught him staring.

“That’s _Liberté_,” he explained. “My horse home at Château de Chavaniac. _Grand-mére_ bought him when I was six, decided it was time I learned how to ride.”

“Of course it is,” Alexander mumbled, making his way over to the huge bed and climbing into it. The covers were purple and black. The wall with the writing desk against it was mostly covered in bookshelves, stuffed to the edge with books in French and English, figurines, and what looked like a statue of a family crest. On the other wall, close to the door to what he assumed was the closet, a white painting with _Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité ou la Morte_ written in black hung. Similar to those _Live, Love, Laugh_-paintings some people had, but in the breath of the revolution. It fit.

Lafayette grabbed a hairbrush and some ties from a dresser before climbing into the bed behind him, starting to brush out his hair.

“You really like the French revolution, huh?” Alexander commented. “Didn’t your family lose a lot in it?”

“_Oui_,” Lafayette agreed cheerfully. “But who gives a damn about a couple thousand livres and _inherited_ political power when the people will suffer for it? I believe in freedom and equality, and so did my ancestors. And the marquis was a good politician and kept a lot anyway.”

“Wish everyone could have that view.”

“The world would be much better then, yes.” He put the tie in Alexander’s hair before letting down his own, and the thick curls cascaded down to his shoulders. He ran his fingers over it a couple times, gathering up all loose hairs, before returning it to its bun. Downstairs, they heard two male voices. “Seems like Principal Franklin has arrived.” He patted Alexander’s shoulder. “Let’s get you signed into school.”

Alexander nodded. School. Yeah. His stomach ached. Suddenly he dreaded it. Dreaded going to school, growing fonder of his new friends, and then being sent away. Lose them all. Because it would happen. Mrs Washington had already called Mr André; he was sure of it. Glancing at Lafayette, he bit down at his lip, hard. Fought back the tears threatening to make his eyes water.

Fuck him for being stupid enough to get attached.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Another chapter! That I already had written and just needed to edit. But I have both been pretty stressed lately and am in a _huge_ writer's block currently where writing just seems like.... too much effort.... so I don't even know that's my reasons I guess. Here it is anyway


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Christmas Miracle: an update

Despite the regret weighing him down, Alexander went downstairs straight-backed, refusing to show how scared he was. Lafayette, looking sombre after their eventful morning, waved to the people sitting in the living room as they came down the stairs. Mr and Mrs Washington were there, in the couch, and in one of the armchairs sat an elderly man in jeans and a dress shirt and a huge afro. Mrs Washington waved for them to come as she caught sight of them, and the older man smiled, looking at him up and down.

“Alexander, come and meet Principal Franklin,” Mr Washington said, and Alexander hurried his steps so he almost stumbled down the last piece of staircase.

The man, Principal Franklin, stood up and held out his hand for him to shake. “Good morning, young man. My name is Benjamin Franklin.”

Forcing himself to smile, Alexander shook it steadily. “Good morning, sir. Alexander Hamilton. A pleasure to meet you.”

“George tells me you’re quite eager to start attending school, hm?”

_Not anymore_. He nodded. “I am, sir.”

Nodding, Principal Franklin sat down, and Lafayette pulled Alexander down next to him, so they both sat squeezed together in the armchair next to the principal’s. It was soothing to be so close to him.

“Do you have any favourite subjects?”

“I really like Social Sciences,” Alexander said. “Especially the debates. And languages. In fact, I am fond of most of the humanities, and I am good at math.” That was an understatement, of course, but with Mr and Mrs Washington here he didn’t want to risk sounding like he was bragging. The thought sent a shiver up his spine (“_You fucking smartass, I’ll teach you to know your place.” “Thinking you’re better than us, are you?” _He did. He knew he was better than the lot of them.) and he pressed himself against Lafayette, who was resting his head on top of Alexander’s.

“Delightful!” Principal Franklin sounded enthusiastic enough, and his smile was kind. Instinctually, Alexander didn’t trust him – he didn’t trust any adult with power over him – but he _did_ feel he could come to _like_ him anyway. “Do you have any thoughts on what you’d like to be when you’re older?”

Alexander’s gaze flickered over to Mr and Mrs Washington, his heart jumping in his chest. “I’d-” He took a deep breath, readying himself to be ridiculed. Though quite likely, it would come first after the principal had left. “I’d like to study at Columbia. A double major – law and economics.”

He forced himself not to pay any attention to the Washingtons, to the leering he was sure to see on their faces if he turned. Instead he just looked at the principal: teachers usually liked students with ambitions, even if his foster parents never appreciated it.

And sure enough did Franklin’s face light up in delight. Alexander preened under his evident approval, desperately starved for any kind of positivity for his future plans. (“_Ha!_ _Like a bastard orphan son of a whore would ever get into Columbia. Especially an immigrant.” “Wow, you’re not only stupid, but _delusional _too.”_)

“If that is your goal, we’ll certainly do whatever we can to help you reach it, won’t we George?”

As he forced himself to look at his guardian, Alexander startled. Mr Washington was grinning, looking _pleased. _It threw him out of the loop and he stared, bewildered, as Mr Washington nodded. “Definitely. I’m proud over having such bright boys in my home.”

“You better appreciate us,” Lafayette said brightly. _Us_. “We’re gonna change the world.”

“I’m sure you will,” Mrs Washington said warmly, and she didn’t only look at her son, she looked at _him_ too. Was he supposed to say anything? Did she want him to say anything? He didn’t know the rules, he didn’t _understand_ this family. They were going to send him away so why were they treating him so kindly, why be so cruel? Why even write him into school if he was going to leave soon?

Maybe they weren’t sending him away.

No. No that made even _less_ sense. He was a mess. Mrs Washington had offered him something wonderful and he’d freaked out and left. He wasn’t broken. Not broken. But he wasn’t whole either. There was a chip on his shoulder from everything he’d gone through, and people didn’t want a chipped child, and even less a chipped teenager, almost-adult. Two years. Two more years of this bullshit and then he’d be free. No longer someone’s annoying foster child, but his own man. Someone who could be something _great_.

“Alexander?” The word made him jump, and he realized he’d zooned out. Instinctually, he flinched, clutching the fabric of his trousers. He glanced up at Mrs Washington before looking down in his lap again.

“S-sorry, ma’- Mrs Washington.” Amazing. Good job, Alexander. Zoom out and show _this_ side of you during your first meeting with the principal. Not that it mattered that much, he was going to change schools soon anyway. But he still wanted Franklin to like him.

Her smile was gentle. “We were just moving to the kitchen. Lunch is done, and I’m sure you’re hungry.”

As if it had heard her, his stomach grumbled. His cheeks reddened. With a nod, he slid out of the armchair, and Lafayette climbed out after him. He gave him a pat on the back and an encouraging grin, as though he knew how Alexander had been spiralling.

Alexander lingered as the other went into the kitchen, stopping Mrs Washington on her way out. “Can I help with something?” he asked, voice quiet. Maybe, just maybe, they’d decide to keep him anyway if he showed he was useful. That yes, he was a mess but he could still make up for his stay. Of course they expected him to, but adults often appreciated if he took initiative. He really didn’t want to go to a group home.

“That’s sweet of you, dear. Gilbert could learn something from you,” Mrs Washington said, and he breathed a sigh of relief. “You can pour the water off the potatoes.”

He nodded. “Of course. I’m happy to help.”

It freaked him out how they hadn’t set any ground rules yet, even though he’d been there for two nights now, and neither had they given him any chores. It felt unnatural to not have any work to do, and it certainly was worrying. Were they waiting to see if they wanted to keep him to give him any? Or maybe they were testing him. Alexander nodded to himself. That seemed likely. They were testing him, seeing if he’d take the initiative himself or if he was just a _“lazy immigrant.” _(_“I can’t believe the nerve of your kind. Coming here mooching of hard-working Americans and thinking you don’t need to give anything back. Not in my home, no.”_)

He swallowed. That was probably it. He was just going to have to prove to them he wasn’t like that, prove to them that he could make up for what he cost them, and that he could be good. Pliant. Obedient. Then hopefully they would let him stay, wouldn’t send him to a group home.

So he poured the water off the potatoes, and found a nice bowl to put it in without being asked. Sat quietly and politely and only spoke when spoken to during dinner. As soon as everyone had finished, he went to gather the plates, putting them into the washing machine and put the remaining food into the fridge. Mrs Washington’s expression was unreadable, but she thanked him, which was a relief. Then he had to be doing something right.

Then it was decided. He’d be good when he was here. Don’t talk unnecessarily, don’t bring up your personal beliefs. Do your goddamn work. Maybe at school he could be himself, when he was away from his guardians.

The adults talked, discussing first his classes and then switching over to politics, and Alexander bit his tongue as he listened, giving himself a physical reminder to shut the fuck up and not try to join the conversation. No one wanted his opinions. And they _certainly_ wouldn’t appreciate if he started _arguing_, which he knew he wouldn’t be able to resist. Alexander Hamilton, the loudmouth bother, that was him.

He squeezed his hands in his lap as he listened, digging his fingers into his palms to force himself to keep his mouth shut. Talking about politics _never_ ended well. He still had scars from trying.

“Alright, _mes amis_,” Lafayette eventually said, jumping up from his seat. “Adults talking is, how you say, _boring_. Alex and I will be in my room.”

Alexander instinctually stiffened, but he didn’t have time to panic before the other boy grabbed his arm and pulled him upstairs. The door slammed shut behind them, and only then did Lafayette release him. Rubbing his wrist, Alexander smiled gratefully. At least he’d gotten out before he did something really dumb.

Still, “How do you talk like that to them?” Alexander wondered, going to search Lafayette’s bookshelves, running his fingers over the spines. He hadn’t had the chance to do that yet. _Memoirs, Correspondence and Manuscripts of General Lafayette_. _The Marquis. Adrienne: The Life of the Marquise de la Fayette. Correspondance indédite de La Fayette. __The Art of War. Harry Potter á l’ecole des sorciers. Dracula and Other Horror Stories. Pride and Prejudice._ The same book but in French: _Orgueil et préjugés. Rights of Man. Redcoats & Rebels. Secrets of an Accidental Duchess. Sherlock Holmes: A Study in Scarlet. The Cry of the Icemark_. _The Scarlet Pimpernel._ It was easily the most mixed bookshelf he had ever seen. He turned to Lafayette. “How do you just say that kind of thing to an adult?”

“I would not have to _ma grand-mére_,” Lafayette replied, coming up to him to see what he was doing. “She was terrifying when she got mad. But Martha and George only think I’m funny, which I am.” He pulled out one of the books – _The Marquis_ \- and slammed it into Alexander’s hand. “Read this, Alexander. My ancestor was a brilliant man. You can, of course, take any book you want from my shelves, though I recommend the revolutionary ones the most. And _The Scarlet Pimpernel._”

Fumbling with the book, he nodded dumbly before processing what he was being offered. So many books. This, and the library, and then also the school library if they had a proper one... Alexander had never been able to _imagine_ such a thing. “Thank you.” He didn’t know what else to say. “I will.”

Seeing the emotion on Alexander’s face, Lafayette smiled and pulled him into a hug. “_De rien_, Alexander. It is my pleasure.”

…

The next day, Alexander woke up _early_. As he looked at the clock on his bedtable, it read 05:43 in bright red numbers. Knowing he couldn’t possibly be supposed to be out of bed at this time, he ignored the hunger pangs in his stomach as he slid out of it and padded over to the writing desk. Yesterday, he’d asked Lafayette to borrow his schoolbooks (“Why would you read those before you’ve even started?” he’d replied in bewilderment before going to get them), and they all laid in a neat pile on top of it.

Mr Washington had bought him a couple spiral notebooks – the cheap model, thank fuck – and he pulled out one of them and grabbed a pencil before he opened the History-book and started taking notes. There was no way in Hell he was going to let himself get behind during first day of class.

He was halfway through the history-book when it knocked on his door. A few seconds passed before it slid open, creaking quietly, and Lafayette stuck in his head through the door. His tired eyes scanned the room before he saw Alexander by his desk and he just shook his head, yawning widely. “Why are you working _now_?” he asked, yawning again. His French accent was broad, brought out by his sleepiness. He shook his head. “Imma take a shower. If you want to, you can do it after me. Then breakfast.”

Alexander nodded, and thought he heard him mutter “_Putain les matins et putain les matin personnes_.” Fuck mornings and fuck morning people. It made him smile as he turned back to the book, hearing the shower getting turned on. He read another few pages before he heard it turn off, and went to grab some clothes from his new wardrobe. It was so full, and it was absolutely insane that someone had spent that much on him, even if he’d have to pay it back eventually. The thing he was the most grateful over was the new shoes he’d gotten; and not only one pair either. Brand-new blue Converse, a pair of Doctor Martens, black sneakers, and even a pair of dress shoes, though he wasn’t sure when he ever would wear those. But they were his.

Grabbing a pair of black jeans, a wine-red t-shirt, and a black and indigo flannel shirt, he went to wait outside of the bathroom, playing on his phone in the meantime. Because he had a phone. A _smartphone_. The mere thought sent a thrill up his spine. All the knowledge of the world, accessible in his hand.

After a moment, glancing toward the bathroom door, he opened up the browser and wrote in _Gilbert de Lafayette_. The first thing that plopped up was the Wikipedia-page for the war hero. _Washington,_ he added. _Gilbert de Lafayette Washington_. An article from Teen Vogue was the first thing popping up. Curious, he opened it. The first picture was of Lafayette, much younger than now, in a black hoodie and clutching a backpack as he left an airport together with Mr and Mrs Washington.

_Gilbert du Motier arrives in America at Mt. Vernon Outland Airport_, the picture description read. He looked... vulnerable. That was the only way Alexander could describe it.

He started reading.

_Gilbert du Motier, the Marquis de Lafayette, France, arrived in the United States last week after his mother’s, Marie Louise Jolie de la Riviére du Motier, Marquise de Lafayette, death. The thirteen-year-old is rumoured to be going through the process to be adopted by George Washington, the senator of New York, and his wife Martha, though this has yet to be confirmed_.

The phone slid from Alexander’s hand. His heart skipped a beat as he fumbled for it, catching it before it hit the floor. _The senator of New York_. He lived with the _senator or New York_, and he hadn’t _realized_. What the fuck was wrong with him, how could he have been so distracted by his own woes that he didn’t realize he lived with a _politician_? He got a brief glance of Châteaux de Chavaniac as he scrolled back up, but he didn’t even care right now. His hands trembled as he wrote in _George Washington_.

The man had a full-stocked Wikipedia-page. Alexander nervously glanced up as he clicked on it, praying to the universe itself that Mr and Mrs Washington weren’t keeping track of his internet-history, though it wouldn’t surprise him in the least if they did. His foster father had been born in Westmoreland County, and was 53 years old. To his surprise, he found he, too, was an orphan and had been raised by his half-brother from age eleven. Mr Washington joined the army at the age of eighteen and reached the rank of colonel before being discharged because of an injury, after which he went into politics.

The lump in Alexander’s throat grew. Should he have been titling him differently? Was he secretly mad he’d just been calling him _Mr_ Washington? But then shouldn’t he have _said_ something? It wasn’t like Alexander could just switch over now without his foster family finding out he’d been googling them, which they definitely wouldn’t appreciate.

The shower had turned off a good while ago, and Lafayette, with a towel around his waist, finally stepped out of the bathroom, stopping as he saw Alexander’s panicked expression. “_Mon petit lion_, are you alright?”

Stumbling on his words, he replied, “I’m- Yeah- Yeah, I’m fine, it’s-” He cursed himself. When had his foster families started make him lose his eloquence? (He knew the answer to that. He just didn’t want to remember it.) His eyes flickered down to Lafayette’s muscular chest, and to the two fine scars there.

Noticing his surprise, Lafayette shrugged. “They called me _la marquise_ for a while. That wasn’t right.”

“Oh. Okay.” As he looked down, he realized Wikipedia was still open. His heart skipped in his chest as he fumbled to close it, and the phone fell to the floor. He winced, heart racing as he picked it up, searching it desperately to see it hadn’t cracked. He didn’t want to know what they’d do if he cracked his phone before even two days had passed. He sighed in relief when he found it hadn’t, his hands still shaking.

Lafayette’s hands closed around his and he breathed slowly, silently encouraging him to do the same. “_Calme-tu_, _Alexander. Respirer._ What happened?”

“No- nothing,” he insisted. “Nothing happened.”

The other sighed, sending another spike of panic through him – _he'stiredofmybullshitnowit’sallover _\- before suddenly sweeping him into a tight hug. Alexander struggled before relaxing, sinking into it, and he clung to Lafayette, a sob catching in his throat. Fuck, he was so tired. So tired. Why did the universe hate him so much. Burying his face in Lafayette’s chest, he let out a dry sob.

“Shhh, _mon petit lion_.” Lafayette stroked his back, holding him without reservation. Holding him like no one had held him since he left the Stevens. He hushed him, not a word about Alexander being a boy and boys shouldn’t cry coming from him. “You’re safe. _Tu es en sécurité_.” When Alexander finally calmed down, pulling away and staring at the floor red-faced, he softly asked, “What happened, Alexander?”

“Nothing...” He shook his head. But the words forced their way out anyway. “I realized Mr Washington is the senator of New York and I don’t understand what I’m doing here and why he didn’t tell me and I don’t understand _anything_ about what’s going on.”

Sliding an arm around his waist, Lafayette led him into the bathroom, sitting down with him on the side of the fucking jacuzzi. “George didn’t tell you because he didn’t want you to be, how you say... intimidated by him. And you’re here because we want you here, _mon ami_. When your caseworker called, saying it was your last chance and he needed someone good to take you in, they didn’t even hesitate.”

“But _why?”_

“Because you’re worth it, Alexander. You deserve a home, and we want to give it to you.” His words were so genuine, it was so obvious he believed it fully. Lafayette's brown eyes shone with earnestness. “We really do.”

Alexander pulled in a deep breath, tears ignoring his frantic blinking as he stared down at the floor. Without a word, Lafayette hugged him tight again, letting him cry. _You’re worth it_. Three words. Three words he hadn’t even known he ached to hear. He sobbed. Together they slid down on the floor, not letting go off each other. (_“You’re worthless. Nothing but an unnecessary expense for our country.” “You’re useless, Alexander. I hope you know that.” “Don’t think you are anything, you little brat.”_)

_You’re worth it_.

Eventually, Lafayette gently wiped his cheeks with his sleeves, smiling. “You better shower now, _mon petit lion_. Don’t want to be late on your first day, _non_?”

Letting out a wet laugh, Alexander nodded, standing up. “_Non_. You’re right. Get out.”

With a grin, Lafayette swiftly stood as well, retreating with his hands in the air. “_Oui, oui_. Hurry up, Alex. We must eat breakfast before the bus arrives.”

“I will,” he promised as he locked the door. He leaned his forehead against the door, taking a few seconds to gather himself, before going to turn on the shower.

At least he’d see John and Hercules again today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So since the last time I updated I've read _My Dear Hamilton: a Novel of Eliza Schuyler Hamilton_ and I recommend. It was amazing and it made me cry and laugh and cry some more also adore Lafayette even more. And Eliza was fucking incredible oh my god.  
I've also seen Hamilton live in London which was also absolutely amazing oh my goodness
> 
> Happy Holidays!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoop whoop. I've been obsessing over Eliza lately (what an incredible woman) and then I suddenly started writing on this again for the first time since like August. The other chapters I've published since then were already written and just needed to be edited, so this is an accomplishment

Breakfast was a quick affair and just as Alexander and Lafayette made their way outside, a car honked. Alexander twitched in surprise as Lafayette squealed loudly. He looked out to the street, lips parting in surprise as he saw a black car pulled up outside the gates with John leaning out the window off the back seat.

“Get in, losers!” he yelled, his brown curls rocking in the wind. “Herc is driving us to school!”

A grin spread over Lafayette’s face and he grabbed Alexander’s hand, pulling him toward the car. He waved toward the house with the other, and Alexander nervously glanced back, but none of the Washingtons were there what he could see.

After giving him a quick pat on the shoulder, Lafayette jumped into the passenger seat, leaving him to walk around the car and take the free seat in the back. The seats were beige leather, and John grinned at him as he stepped inside. He sat down just in time to see Lafayette grab his boyfriend and lean down for a passionate kiss that made Alexander’s cheeks flush. He looked away, only to see John rolling his eyes.

“Those two are ridiculous. That’s what they are,” he said. “Laf’s big on PDA and Herc couldn’t tell him no if the world depended on it.”

“And I’m not ashamed of it,” Hercules replied, starting the car. He glanced back at them, grinning. “If it makes Laf happy, then I’m in.”

Lafayette sighed dreamily, twisting around and draping his arms over the car seat. “Isn’t he perfect?”

“Gross.” John’s face was soft though, and he smiled. He turned to Alexander. “So, Alex, are you excited for your first day?”

Nodding, he held his backpack against his chest. He had a bunch of new notebooks and schoolbooks in there, and the fact that his textbooks weren’t second-hand was _exciting_. And actual _lunch money_ instead of just a half-assed sandwich. He grinned. “Hell yeah. Can’t wait.”

“Man, imagine being that happy over school.” Hercules chuckled. “Can’t relate.”

“I love learning stuff,” Alexander simply said. “And getting out of the house.”

“Now that’s something I can understand.” John patted his shoulder, smiling in a way that told Alexander he really did understand it. And from what he’d been told when they were out shopping, he would. Then his eyes glittered, the almost-sadness gone. “Though I’d much prefer getting out to go to an amusement park or some shit rather than school.”

“Oh? I’ve never been to an amusement park.”

From the way the other three twisted around, staring at him in such horror, one could almost think he had confessed to murder. He stared back, bewildered. “What?”

Hercules had to turn back to the road, but Lafayette and John exchanged a serious gaze before John planted his hands on top of Alexander’s shoulder, holding his gaze seriously. “Alex. We are taking you to an amusement park.”

He blinked before shrugged lightly. “I mean. Sure. If you want to.”

He wasn’t sure what the big deal was, but if it would make them happy, then he wasn’t about to complain about it. It could be fun.

Soon enough the car pulled in on a parking lot, and he looked out the window to get a first glance of his new school, so he would know what to expect from it, other than rich kids. The building was white stone, two floors high, and what he could see, it had no actual _schoolyard_ but rather was in the middle of a park, and students flooded in through the double doors. At least from the outside, it seemed nice enough. Not rundown, at least, though he hadn’t expected that from a school with that many rich kids attending.

Grabbing his backpack, he slid out of the car, waiting only a second for the others before he made his way toward the entrance. He wanted to see how it looked inside, and get a chance to study the other students before he had to interact with them. Get at least a vague idea of how the dynamics were here, and who was in charge.

Hopefully not someone he’d want to fight, this time, whether it be with words or fists.

The others came up after him, all three of them walking by his side. Alexander smiled.

As John reached him, he punched his arm lightly. “Hey! Don’t just leave us like that, asshole,” he joked.

Alexander flinched, ducking his head. “S-sorry.” The word was out before he could even think to stop it.

In the corner of his eye, he saw Lafayette’s face fall, and his heart panged with guilt. John’s expression softened. “Sorry, bud. Didn’t think about that. You’re fine.”

Even though he knew he didn’t actually have a reason to be so scared, he hadn’t been able to relax until those words. His shoulders sank and he gave John a small smile. “Thanks.”

It was ridiculous, how much that little apology and reassurance meant to him.

But he laughed as Hercules swept the doors open, bowing as he gestured toward the door. “Step inside, my lord, sirs.”

Lafayette perked up again when Alexander laughed, and grinned at Hercules. His eyes glittered. Alexander didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone that in love before. It was weirdly nice. Especially once he and John had passed by and Laf pulled Hercules up, kissing his cheek. Just right there, in front of every other student around the entrance. No hesitance.

John gently bumped into him. “Let’s get you to the office so you can get your schedule.”

“Sounds great.” He grinned, feeling much better already, as he studied the crowds and the school. It was a lot nicer than his old school, that’s for sure; clean floors, big windows letting in lots of natural light, and the doors he could see had windows in them. His last one had been a fucking mess. Metal detectors and all. But when he looked at the students, he understood why. It was surprisingly diverse – he and his friends were far from the only people of colour there – but everyone was clearly of means.

Though Lafayette had said there weren’t that many rich people here, Alexander was starting to doubt that. Or rather, he was starting to wonder if Lafayette’s definition of rich was the same as his. If there was one thing he knew, it was that he was good with numbers, but he wouldn’t even bother to try to count the amount of brand names he saw on the students’ clothing and bags. His heart dropped at the thought of having to go here in his own tattered clothing, and suddenly he was _very_ grateful Lafayette had gotten him new clothes.

The other two boys closed up around him and John, and suddenly he found himself getting basically shoved toward a room with _OFFICE_ written in black on the white door. Lafayette jerked the door open, yelling, “_Madame!_ Alexander here is new and needs his schedule.”

The middle-aged, redheaded woman sitting behind a desk in there twitched in surprise, and Alexander winced, expecting anger. To his surprise, she only smiled after a moment, and even _more_ surprising was how her gentle smile went from being for Lafayette to being for _him_.

“You must be the Washingtons’ foster son,” she commented.

_Ugh_. He hated that she knew that. No doubt the entire school did, and would know he just was another orphan lost in the system. “Yes ma’am. That’s me. Alexander Hamilton.”

“Lovely people, the Washingtons. You’ll like it there. Here, I’ll print out your schedule for you.”

Alexander held in a sigh. Well, good to know he couldn’t expect any help in school once things went to hell. If they were already convinced Mr and Mrs Washington were _lovely_, they wouldn’t take _his_ word for anything else. They never did.

Giving her a smile instead, since it never hurt to at least not get on an adult’s bad side, he thanked her. As soon as the paper was in his hand, the other three pulled out their schedules as well, comparing with his. That coaxed a genuine smile from him. Especially as they cheered when they saw he was in first period with all three of them.

“And in math with me,” John said, sounding pleased. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”

“Oh no,” Alexander replied. His heart did something weird at seeing John’s pleasure over that they’d be together. “_You’re_ the one who’s gonna have to keep up. I’m fucking brilliant.”

“He speaks French,” Lafayette added on, throwing an arm over his shoulders. “’Ow can he be anything else?”

All four of them laughed as the three showed him to the classroom. Civics.

The classroom was, just like the part of the school he’d already seen, nothing like his old schools. The walls were white as well, there were huge windows. His old school had had specific benches for each of them, which they were not allowed to change. The one he sat down at now, between Lafayette and John, was perfectly clean. No graffiti or carvings to be seen anywhere. Once, in his own school, he’d come to class to see _orphan_ carved into it. Fair enough, but it seemed like a terrible waste of time to tell him something he already knew. The idiot should’ve studied instead.

_Technically_ it wasn’t true, either. His runaway father was alive. Not that most people knew that. Or that anyone cared.

“You’ll like Mr Arnold,” John told him. “He’s a good teacher.”

“Oh yes,” a sweet voice came from behind. Alexander turned around in his seat, his eyes widening. Behind him, the prettiest girl he’d ever seen before sat. Long, black hair spilled over her shoulders, and her eyes were such a gorgeous shade of brown. A turquoise ribbon poked out from behind her head, where it seemed to be holding her hair back from her face. She was wearing a white blouse with lace, clearly expensive. He snapped his mouth shut. “Mr Arnold is wonderful. He’s a good friend of my father.” She smiled at him. And _was_ it a beautiful smile? “Hello. I’m Eliza. Are you new?”

“_Mes Cheries_,” Lafayette exclaimed, also twisting around. He was starting to look like a Cheshire cat, with how much he was grinning. “Meet my new brother.”

At Lafayette’s use of plural, Alexander realized she wasn’t alone, but rather sitting between two other girls. One of them had curly black hair and red-painted lips, and the other brown hair. Both of them looked between Alexander and Eliza with amusement, and he had to fight down a blush.

He held out his hand. “Alexander Hamilton, at your service.”

Her smile grew even sweeter as she shook his hand. “It’s very nice to meet you, Alexander. These are my friends, Maria and Kitty.”

Shaking both their hands too, Alexander gave them his most charming smile. “A pleasure, ladies.”

John raised an eyebrow at him as who he assumed was Mr Arnold stepped into the room, and the girls’ attention were momentarily brought to him instead of Alexander. Alexander just shrugged in reply. The teacher was grey-haired and old. But he had a kind sort of face. Not that that meant anything substantial.

Still. For whatever reason, he wanted to believe _Eliza_ when she said he was nice. As Mr Arnold cleared his throat, he turned back to facing the whiteboard.

Lafayette elbowed him. “Do you perhaps fancy _notre chère_ Eliza, _mon petit lion_?” he whispered.

Alexander glared at him, kicking his shin under the table. Laf twitched. He did not _fancy_ anyone. Eliza may be incredibly pretty (and John beautiful), but that meant nothing. He’d had his fair amount of flirts with pretty girls (and the occasional boy, when no one saw), but it had only been for fun. That wouldn’t change. _Don’t get attached_.

“Good morning, students,” Mr Arnold said. “I heard we’ve got a new one here.” His gaze swept over everyone until he found Alexander. Alexander held in a groan. “Would you like to introduce yourself?”

_No_. Plastering on a smile, he turned toward the class. “Alexander Hamilton. Charmed.”

Thankfully, that seemed to satisfy the teacher, and he started rambling on about the balance between the House of Representatives and the Senate. All stuff Alexander already knew. He hadn’t read his political science books cover to cover multiple times for nothing. Still, he pulled out his notebook and made some absentminded notes. All very neat. A fresh notebook was something special.

After a while, unrest started coming from the back of the classroom. He frowned, but ignored it. Apparently not even a school as fancy as this one could avoid assholes disrupting class. But when he heard someone mutter _Washington_, he stiffened. He could practically feel his ears perking up as he tried to catch what they were saying. He caught _my mother_ and _orphan_, and wanted to fucking die. Well, clearly hoping for a blank slate was too much.

But then he heard it. _A fucking good-for-nothing whoreson_. He didn’t know where they’d heard any of that, but he twisted around in his chair, anger rising. “What the _fuck_ did you just say?”

They looked surprised he had spoken, but then one of them sneered. “You’re a whoreson, arentcha? A good-for-nothing whoreson who has no business being here.”

“_Boys_,” Mr Arnold snapped, but Alexander hardly heard him.

“What the _fuck_ is wrong with you, Lee?” he heard John growl, but he hardly registered that either.

“Oh, don’t act dumb,” another of them said. “What would daddy say if he knew you were hanging out with someone like _him_, Laurens? A freak from the system that no one wants.”

His heartbeat roared in his ears, and he yelled as he threw himself over the benches, punching the one who’d spoken second right in the nose. A crunch. The boy screamed, collapsing to the floor, even though he’d been already sitting down.

“_Hamilton!_”

He ignored the yell, punching again as the other two boys started punching back. He hardly flinched as one of them hit his arm. He’d been hit damn much harder than that. A punch to his cheek made his head jerk back though. He bit his cheek, tasting blood.

An arm on his shoulder pulled him back, and a furious Mr Arnold stared at him. “_Hamilton_,” he barked. “_Back off_.”

Glaring furiously, Alexander spit blood on the floor by the teacher’s feet, tearing his arm away. He twisted, running out the classroom. _Fuck him_. Fuck _everything_. Of course Arnold would be mad at _him_, not the rich kids who’d insulted both him and his mother. There was no fucking fairness in the world, and he’d learn that a long time ago. His steps echoed in the empty hallway. Now he was done for. The Washingtons would throw him out, and he’d never see his friends again. Just because of those assholes.

And because of his temper. But he refused to admit that. He’d been in the right.

The thought made him tremble before he shook his head to himself, clenching his fists at his sides. He’d known it was all going away. It was better it did now, before he’d had the chance to get _really_ attached. Who needed friends anyway? He sure didn’t. He’d just have to survive the group home for a little while, and then he’d be eighteen. On his own. Not having to cater to any more stupid, uncaring foster parents.

He turned around a corner sharply. Grunting as he collided with something, stumbling back. He caught himself on the wall before he fell.

“What the _hell_?” a dark voice exclaimed, and his gaze flickered up.

“Lafayette?” He stared at the taller. No, not Lafayette. Just his foster brother’s fucking _doppelgänger._

“Ah, no?” He was slightly shorter than Laf, though not by much. His curly hair hung free over his shoulders, and instead of Laf’s frankly incredible choices of clothing, he wore black jeans and a magenta dress-shirt with a leather jacket over it. “Who the fuck are you, and how do you know Lafayette?” His accent was distinctly southern. Actually, a lot like Mr Washington’s, now when he thought about it. Maybe another Virginian?

After a moment of hesitance, he stuck out his hand. “Alexander Hamilton.” If this boy knew Lafayette, which it sounded like, he didn’t want to make a bad impression. Even if it didn’t matter much now, since he’d be leaving soon anyway. The thought made his stomach drop, which he scolded himself for. _Stupid him, getting attached_.

The boy shook it, smirking. “Thomas Jefferson. So you’re the orphan the Washingtons decided to take in?”

Alexander glared at him, pulling his hand back. “None of your fucking business.”

“Ah, I think you’ll find it is. _Gilbert_ is a good friend of mine.” He pronounced the name with a flawless French accent.

Lafayette was friends with this ass? Oh, wait. He recalled the conversation from the coffee shop.

_Thomas is my friend. _

_You can’t deny he’s an asshole though_.

He scowled. “Well, it’s still none of your fucking business. Get out of my way. I’ve got places to be.” When he tried to step past, though, Jefferson moved into his way. And he was too tall for him to shove past. Fucking _great_.

“Alexander!” His name, called with those calmingly rolling French r’s, made him turn around. He heard the footsteps before he saw them: Lafayette and John both coming running. John’s expression turned dark when he saw Jefferson, and Alexander shared the sentiment.

They stopped next to him, Lafayette throwing an arm over his shoulders. “Ah, _mon petit lion_. I am _tres désolé_ for what happened. They deserved everything they got.” He looked angry, and even though Alexander tried not to, knowing he’d be leaving, he appreciated how the other was so clearly angry for _his sake_. “I see you’ve met Thomas.”

“Met is one way to phrase it,” Jefferson said. “He ran straight into me.”

“_Me?_ _You’re_ the one walking right by a fucking corner!” Alexander felt his anger rise again, when a hand suddenly grabbed his. He looked down, eyes widening. John.

John squeezed it, murmuring, “Calm down, Alex. Jefferson ain’t worth it. Spare it for Lee and Monroe.”

Alexander glowered at Jefferson, before turning to John and Lafayette, paying him no attention anymore. “I’m not going back there.”

“Me neither,” John agreed. “Let’s just skip.”

Normally, Alexander would never. He needed his education. But he’d be changing schools again immediately, so what the fuck did it matter?

“I can’t,” Lafayette said apologetically. “Herc is waiting. He stayed behind to make sure your side of the story didn’t get twisted.”

He nodded, giving him a small smile. “Thanks. It’s fine. I’ll… see you at home, I suppose.”

Hopefully. If Mr and Mrs Washington let him say goodbye and didn’t want him gone as fast as possible before he could corrupt their son.

Lafayette nodded, giving him a quick hug. “I gotta go back. See you later. And see you later, Thomas.”

“_À plus tard,_” Jefferson agreed, eyeing all of them.

John didn’t give him a glance before he pulled Alexander past him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on a _roll_
> 
> I've updated the tags

They only grabbed their bags and jackets before they were off, Alexander letting John guide him through the neighbourhood away from the school. The breeze was chilly, despite the warmth of the sun, and the trees were showing signs of red and yellow. He shivered, pulling his jacket tighter closed over his chest.

When he saw, John raised an eyebrow, apparently amused. “It’s not cold yet, dude.”

“Speak for yourself,” Alexander muttered. “I grew up in the _tropics_. I’d never seen a snowflake except on the tv before arriving in New York. In _November._”

“Really? Goddamn.” John’s eyes glittered in amusement, and frankly, that wasn’t something Alexander was entirely comfortable with noticing. He was _too handsome_. “I can’t imagine. That must’ve been an experience.”

“Duh. Fucking terrible. I can’t stand the cold.”

John laughed, which made the corner of Alexander’s mouth twitch. The other still hadn’t let go off his hand, and it made him feel weirdly warm. That wasn’t good. That wasn’t good at all, since this was the last time he’d see John. The mere thought sent a spike of ice through him, and he quickly forced the thought out of his head. If this was the last time he’d hang out with a friend, then he didn’t want to think of what would come next. So he said nothing, and let John bring him to a park.

Not only to a park, but to a playground. He turned to look at John in confusion as he saw where he was taken, but received no response but a wide smile, and a pull on his hand. There were a few parents and their children there, including an elderly lady that looked somewhat familiar. But not in a way he knew from where, so he ignored her. Especially as she and a younger woman who he assumed was her adult daughter stared at them in disapproval as John pulled him toward the nest swing.

“What are you doing?” he finally asked as John pulled him up on the swing.

“What does it look like?” He stood on the edge, leaning back and forth to make it swing, Alexander yelped, grabbing one of the ropes it hung from. “Swinging, dumbass.”

On instinct, he let out a small growl at being called _dumbass_, but to his surprise he found he didn’t actually mind that much. Weird. His stomach rolled as they swung higher, and he clung to the swing. The wind tore at his hair. He lifted from the swing for a moment, letting out a small yell.

“Haven’t you ever swung before?” John called, laughter in his voice, which made Alexander’s stomach tingle.

“Not since I left St. Croix!” He’d _been_ on a swing, but he hadn’t _swung_. Mostly just sat there, hiding from the normal kids.

“_Terrible!_” He gave the swing a hard push, and they both let out squeals as it went too high for the ropes so it felt like they were flying for a second, their stomachs dropping.

After that it slowed down, leaving Alexander dizzy when it finally stopped. When he looked up, he was met by John’s grinning face. “Wasn’t that fun?”

Letting out an exhausted laugh, he nodded. Despite everything, he was smiling. “It kind of was,” he admitted. “What now?”

“Now let’s try everything else. You any good at climbing?”

His gaze followed John’s to a giant rope climbing frame. None of the actual kids were on it, so it’d probably be fine. “Better than you,” he replied.

“_Oooh _challenge fucking accepted.”

As John jumped off the swing, it jerked, and Alexander had to grab it before carefully climbing down himself. Both of them laughed as they raced over to the climbing frame, and Alexander grabbed the closest rope, heaving himself up. He started to climb. The ground got farther and farther away, but John stayed at his side, climbing just as fast as him. They reached the top at the same time, but with Alexander managing to sit down at the top rope before the other could make an attempt.

Laughing still, he looked down at John, now shorter than him. The autumn sun made his hair shine, and a curl had escaped from his ponytail, brushing his face in the breeze. And his freckles… He resisted the urge to brush his fingertips against them, attempting to count. It felt as though trying would be about as useless as counting the stars, and just as calming.

John met his gaze, and for a moment he forgot to breathe.

The other’s smile was the sunniest thing he’d ever seen. And it was directed to _him_. His heart flipped. He realized that he hadn’t expected something like that to be given him _ever_ again. Not when he got out, not when he went to university and became successful, not ever. After all, who’d want to smile like that for him? And here John was. Doing it.

“So…” John said, sitting down on a rope right below him. “Eliza, huh? She’s a sweetheart.”

He twitched, surprised. That… was not what he expected John to say. But when he heard the name, the image of Eliza flashed in front of his eyes. Her sweet smile and kind eyes. “She’s really pretty,” he said honestly. “Probably the prettiest girl I’ve seen.”

Nodding, John smiled slightly. “She’s single, if you’d like to know. And the nicest person you’ll ever meet. Ever.”

He wasn’t going to lie to himself: the thought of Eliza being single made him feel _something_. But no. “I don’t date.”

“Huh? Why?”

Sighing, he pursed his lips. Looked up at the sky. Fluffy light-grey clouds dotted the bright blue sky. The sunlight felt good against his face. “No use to make it hurt more whenever I’m sent away, yanno? It’ll happen eventually. It wouldn’t be fair. Life isn’t fair. I’ve been with people, sure, but I don’t do relationships.”

John winced in sympathy. “I get that. But you really think the Washingtons are gonna send you away? ‘Cause they’re really fucking nice people.”

He rolled his eyes. “Of course they will.” _Especially after today_, he almost added, but if John hadn’t figured that out yet he didn’t want to ruin his day with that knowledge.

Before John could reply, a shout came from the ground: “You two! Get down from there!”

Both of them looked down, confused, and Alexander’s eyes widened as he saw a Policeman standing down there, flanked by the elderly lady and her daughter. The daughter was now holding onto a redheaded child. Realization hit him. _The fucking lady from the bus. What the fuck_. He and John exchanged gazes, but when the officer yelled again, they both sighed and started climbing down.

“You two,” the officer said, glaring at them. Particularly John, since Alexander could _almost_ pass for white. He stepped in front of him instinctively. The lady looked smug. “I got reports you were harassing the children.”

“What the fuck?” Alexander said before he could stop himself. He flinched back as the officer glared at him. “We haven’t done anything to them. Sir.” He spat the last word.

“Uhuh. I’ll be taking you in. And calling your parents.”

He stiffened, panic shooting through him. Oh. _Oh no_. In the corner of his eye, he saw John freezing as well. In the back of his mind, through the sudden rush of his blood in his ears, he remembered their conversation in the dressing room. They had the same fears, then. Except Alexander’s foster parents had never cared about leaving marks.

Swallowing, he followed the officer to the car as though in a daze. This was bad. This was really bad. He was fucking dead; Mr Washington undoubtedly knew exactly how to hurt, former military and all. John slid into the car seat next to him, staring right ahead. Fiddling with the rainbow bracelet around his wrist. His hand enveloped it, squeezing, hiding it from sight. _Yeah_. Alexander knew that feeling. Though he was proud of his sexuality, he owned absolutely nothing that might allude to it, for that exact reason.

After making sure the officer couldn’t see, he grabbed John’s hand, squeezing it in quiet reassurance. Or, reassurance wasn’t right. Empathy? _I know how you feel_. John twitched, looking surprised for a moment, before glancing down. The smallest smile played on his lips. His hand was warm in Alexander’s, at least in comparison to his own, which was always cold.

As he moved, he felt his phone in his jacket pocket. Oh. Right. He’d forgotten he had it. He hesitated for a second before fishing it up. With his free hand, he pulled up Lafayette’s number.

_when w gets the call please come too i dont want to be alone_ _with him_

Send. It eased the knot in his stomach just slightly. He didn’t _think_ Mr Washington would hurt him too badly in front of Laf. Wouldn’t want to hurt his innocence about what his adoptive parents were capable of when it came to foster children. Leaning toward the cold window, he watched the scenery outside. Only John’s hand in his made this feel different from any of the many journeys to and from his different foster families. John’s hand in his made it feel… better. Just a little. Like he wasn’t quite as alone as he’d always been before.

The car pulled in in front of the Police station, stopping with a jerk that made them both bounce against the seatbelts. Alexander swallowed. Took a deep breath. The officer stepped out of the car before coming to open John’s door. He slid out through the same before the officer could go to open the other side. He assumed the kid lock was on, to keep people from trying to escape. Not that he would. Running never did him any good. Just more starving and more pain. And colder. This damn climate. Dfa/Dfb in the Köppen Climate Classification – _warm or hot summer continental climate_ – compared to Am _– tropical monsoon climate_ – at home.

The wind suddenly didn’t feel friendly anymore as it tore at his jacket, making him shiver. But he’d still rather be out here in it, than continuing to feel the dread growing in his stomach with every step as they followed the officer inside the building.

The officer gestured for them to sit. “I’m going to call your parents. What’s your names, and who are they?”

“John Laurens, sir,” John replied in a tone completely foreign to Alexander, coming from his mouth. He didn’t at all sound like the charming teenager he’d become friends with. Instead he’d been replaced with something he could only call _proper_. He sounded… Alexander hated to think it, but he supposed the only correct word would be _well-bred_. “My father is Senator Henry Laurens.” He rattled off a phone number.

“Damn,” the officer muttered, writing it down. Suddenly sounding somewhat hesitant, but clearly not backing down anyway. He looked at Alexander. “And you?”

“Alexander Hamilton,” he muttered. Not bothering to pretend having manners. Next to John when he acted like _this_ it would be clear he was a gutter rat. No hiding it. “I live with George and Martha Washington. My foster parents.”

And there it was. The clear understanding of what a fucking screw-up Alexander was. He could see it in his eyes, even though his face remained neutral. They always knew, or at least assumed. No mercy for people like him.

“Their number?”

John rattled that off as well before Alexander had a chance to get his phone out of his pocket to look I up. The officer went into the backroom to make the calls.

With a sigh, John pulled the bracelet off his wrist. Held it out for Alexander, who looked at him in confusion. “Hold onto it for me, please?” John said, voice uncharacteristically soft. “In case Father looks through my pockets. Mr and Mrs Washington don’t mind that stuff, at least.”

Understanding dawned on him and Alexander took it, shoving it into his jeans pocket. “Of course.” He’d give it to Lafayette before he was made to leave… maybe. Maybe it wouldn’t harm to keep a souvenir. John could get a new bracelet, but he couldn’t get a new friend. “Will it be bad?”

Neither of them had to ask what _it_ was. John laughed humourlessly. “I mean. He’s not gonna do anything someone can see. He’s got a reputation, after all. Maybe he won’t even hit, if I’m lucky. Perhaps I’ll get away with him only letting me know exactly how much of a fuck-up and disgrace and failure of a son I am. Again.”

That gave him such a familiar feeling Alexander almost recoiled. _What?_ All of that. Except the son-part, of course. All of that was something he’d heard. “He does that?”

Another humourless smile. “Duh. I’m his gay oldest son who wants to become a veterinarian, not study law and take after him, and I hang out with Lafayette – who he uses words for I’m _not_ going to say, but it’s definitely got to do with how flamboyant he is – and Herc, who’s got a criminal record, however small it is. Though I suppose he _tolerates_ Laf since he’s noble and rich. Contacts, yanno? I’m everything he doesn’t want me to be. Do you know how mad that makes him?”

Alexander could only stare. Sure, he’d had foster parents who’d treated their own children bad as well, but… Never as bad as they treated him, that was for sure. He hadn’t known parents could do that.

He didn’t think he liked this revelation. Before, he might’ve, just out of pure spite. But now… _John_ didn’t deserve that. He was kind and charming and funny and amazing. Already one of his favourite people in the world. John didn’t deserve any of that. Not like Alexander sometimes thought he did, however much he tried to ignore those thoughts. Suddenly the bracelet in his pocket seemed to burn his skin.

“I’m sorry,” was all he could manage to say. “You don’t deserve that.”

“I don’t know,” John admitted quietly. “Sometimes I know I don’t. Sometimes I just feel. He’s my father. He’s raised all of us ever since my mother died. Five children. Shouldn’t I be better for him?”

“_No_.” Alexander sat straight, staring at him. More serious than he’d felt about anyone else but himself for… years, really. “You’re amazing, John. I can already tell. One of the best people I’ve ever met. Don’t you _dare_ think you should change for him.”

Wide-eyed, apparently shocked, John stared back at him. He opened his mouth to answer, but before he could…

“_John Laurens_.” The sharp words made John flinch, and they both twisted toward the door. A chilly breeze swept in. In the opening, a middle-aged man in a perfectly cut suit stood. His skin was lighter than John’s, and he didn’t have freckles; must’ve come from his mum, then. But it was clear that John would look a lot like his father when he got older. Especially if he shaved his hair like this man had. Which he hopefully wouldn’t. He stepped in, and the door closed behind him.

John flew to his feet. “Father, I-”

“Be _quiet_,” Mr Laurens barked, and John’s mouth _slammed_ shut. He paled. “We’ll talk about this when we get home. Until then, you’re not doing _anything_ you haven’t been explicitly told to do. Understood?”

“Yes sir.” His voice was almost robotic. Alexander stared at him in alarm.

Then Mr Laurens’ gaze turned to him. He schooled his face into a neutral mask, only because he didn’t want to get John into _more _trouble. His eyes widened slightly as it hit him. _Oh god_. John had only been skipping school, been at that playground, because of _him_. He’d done it for _him_. If he got hurt, it was _Alexander’s fault_.

“Who is this?” Mr Laurens asked, not sounding incredibly interested. “I haven’t seen this… _friend of yours_ before.”

“He’s new, Father.” John glanced at him, and Alexander couldn’t read his face. There was too much going on. Fear, apprehensiveness, shame, and more. So much more. “He lives with Mr and Mrs Washington. Alexander, meet my father, Senator Laurens.” A completely out of place, unnecessary introduction.

Nonetheless he nodded. “Nice to meet you. My name is Alexander Hamilton.”

“Ah.” Completely dismissive, he didn’t even acknowledge Alexander had spoken. “Another of their charity projects. What a waste of time.”

He turned to the officers, talking with them, and John pursed his lips, looking ashamed.

He mouthed, _I’m sorry. _Clearly upset over what his father had said.

Alexander shrugged, ignoring the pang of hurt. Wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before. Wasn’t anything that wasn’t true. That was what he was, had been for the past few years. A charity case.

Soon enough, Mr Laurens turned back to them. John’s face went blank again. A clear trained-in response. “John, come. We’re going home, and you’re going to explain exactly what the fuck you were thinking.”

“Yes sir,” he mumbled, falling in a step behind his father. Only glancing at Alexander, giving him a small smile before following him out without a word. Through the open door, he saw a driver holding the passenger door to a black… _was that a fucking Porsche?_ The door closed, but when he shifted, he could still see John climbing in, through the window.

“George. Mrs Washington,” he heard Mr Laurens say curtly as the door opened again.

“Henry.” The reply was just as curt before Mr Laurens disappeared behind the car, going for the other seat.

Alexander paled as Mr and Mrs Washington stepped inside, their gazes searching the room before finding him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Aromantic Awareness Week y'all!!! I just realized that's now and I am delighted. Got nothing to do with the chapter but neither did the chapter I published over the holidays


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beware, this is barely edited. Also, added two new tags
> 
> Enjoy!

“Alexander!” Lafayette cried out, pushing past his parents to rush over to him, enveloping him in a hug. “Are you okay?”

He stiffened, cold sweat dripping down his neck as he stared at his foster parents, unable to speak at first. They were watching, and he couldn’t read their expressions. Nothing was scarier than being unable to tell what the people in charge of him were thinking, and his heart trembled. “I-I’m fine. Really.” Lafayette’s warmth was starting to seep into him and it made him feel just a _little _better, but _fuck_. He felt like _shit_. Especially when Lafayette pulled away and there was worry in his eyes. And it was his fault. He had made him worry, even though he didn’t deserve it. After all, this was all his fault. John’s father being mad at him was his fault.

He couldn’t breathe as Mr and Mrs Washington came over. Finally, he saw something unexpected on Mrs Washington’s face: worry. She stepped forward, away from her husband, quickly, grasping his hand. “Are you hurt, Alexander?”

_He didn’t understand. Why _would she look like that, _ask_ that, _for him? _He wasn’t her son. He wasn’t _anybody_, not to her. Not to anyone, really, except for himself. No one gave a damn what happened to him, so _why would she ask?_ In the corner of his eye, he saw Lafayette. Wringing his hands together and bouncing restlessly in place. Well… maybe someone did. Lafayette, and his friends. Alexander’s friends. They were sort of like him, he guessed. Lafayette, an orphan. John who knew what it was like to fear punishment. Hercules had a troubled background. They weren’t _like him_, no one was, but maybe they could understand enough to care.

Mrs Washington, though?

Swallowing, he shook his head. “No, ma’a- Mrs Washington. I’m fine. I swear.” Mr Washington had gone to talk with the officers. Whether to tell them they’d leave him there until his caseworker came to pick him up, or to take him home and give him a piece of his mind about fucking up and not appreciating their generosity, he didn’t know. And which he’d prefer, he knew even less. But he supposed he was about to find out.

After seeming to check him over with her gaze, she nodded. “Thank god. We were very worried when we got the call. And when Lafayette called and asked he had to come for whatever call we were gonna get.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am.” The title just tumbled out, and he grabbed after the sleeves of his shirt to have something to hold onto before realizing he couldn’t reach them because this shirt actually _fit_. He threw his hands behind his back so they could hold onto each other. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to cause trouble, I really didn’t, I’m so sorry I fucked up, I’m sorry-”

“_Shhh_, Alexander.” She held his hands gently, looking him into the eyes. He forced himself to hold her gaze, even though he wanted nothing more than to look away. “Don’t worry, we’re not mad. We heard what happened and we understand.”

“You’re…. not?” The words swirled around his mind, with him being unable to understand them. They weren’t mad? He’d _gotten into a fight_. Skipped school. Gotten fucking _arrested_. Even one of those things was enough for someone to want to remind him of his place. Which basically was in the fucking cellar.

One of his foster families had taken _that_ too literally.

When she shook her head, he couldn’t stop himself from pulling his hands back, stumbling back. Falling over the chair behind him, yelping as he suddenly was sitting down. As his head hit the wall. He swore, then stiffened. What was _wrong_ with him today? No, what was wrong with the _world_ today? He didn’t understand what was going on. Nothing made sense. His breathing shallowed at the thought, and he pulled up his legs against his lap, not even caring how it looked to his foster mother. Hiding his face. Nothing made sense and he _couldn’t stand it and he wanted to scream_. Biting his tongue so hard it bled, he pressed his forehead against his knees. Keeping the noises that gathered in his throat down. Whatever was going on it was _too much, too confusing_.

_Just punch him. _At least_ that _made sense.

“We can leave,” Mr Washington’s voice broke in, forcing him to look up.

It was as commanding as ever, and he instinctually stood. “Yessir,” he mumbled. Following him out. Lafayette walked right behind him without a word. But his mere presence was… calming. It was a strange sensation. The car was waiting right outside. Even though his fear, Alexander gawked. That was a Tesla. A sleek, shining red Tesla. Which he was about to sit in. When did the world stopped caring about logic? Soon the sky would be green and the grass blue.

But he slid in without a word, and Lafayette took the other back seat. The silence was deafening as they left the parking lot. But then, “What happened, Alexander?” Mr Washington glanced at him in the mirror. “I want to hear it with your words.”

His breath hitched. But there was no saying no – there never was. So; “Those kids in class were insulting my mother, sir,” he said, proud that his voice didn’t shake. “They called her a whore. So I beat them up. Mr Arnold was angry at me, and I left, and John and I went to the park. We didn’t even look at the children, I swear,” he added in a rush, staring into his lap. “We just were on the swing and then climbed. Then a lady called the Police.” Because she was a racist cunt, he almost said, but stopped himself. “I’m sorry for being disobedient. I really am.”

It took a moment for Mr Washington to reply. “I don’t condone violence, Alexander-” He nodded, squeezing his hands to keep them from shaking. “-but in this case, you’re not in trouble. Seems like those boys deserved it. As for skipping school, we won’t punish you this time, but if it happens again, you’ll get grounded. Okay?”

Alexander’s head jerked up and he stared at the back of his foster father’s head. “What?”

“I think you heard me, son.” His voice was weirdly – _uncomfortably_ – gentle.

“No- no punishment? At all? Sir?” He shouldn’t question it. He shouldn’t. It’d only annoy them, he was _supposed_ to accept what he was told, that was what a good kid did. The ones that weren’t bounced around homes like a piece of garbage no one wanted. But he had to. There was _no way_. They’d just try to make him hope and then they’d punish him anyway. Teach him a lesson. There was _no fucking way_ he’d just. Get away with misbehaving. That didn’t happen.

“None. Like I said, those boys seem to have deserved it. I’ll talk to Benedict – Mr Arnold – and sort out this mess. And since it was your first day, I’ll overlook you skipping school due to the circumstances.”

In shock, he turned to look at Lafayette. Lafayette smiled at him, clearly relieved. Suddenly the car felt too small. The clean beige seats too _clean, too proper_. He hardly dared to move out of fear to get dirt on them. This wasn’t a place for him. Whatever they were playing at, it wasn’t a place for him. He didn’t belong here, in their polished, beautiful world. Not in brand-clothes, not in a, what, forty-thousand-dollar car. He was a street rat, as much as he’d like to pretend otherwise. Ducking his head, he just stared at his lap, focusing on breathing. _Un deux trois. Un deux trois. Un deux trois_. _Un deux tro-_

The car stopped. They were ‘home’.

Without even caring what they’d say, he fled the car, pulling at the door. When it didn’t open, he pulled up the housekey he’d been given with shaky hands – because they’d also given him a _housekey_ – and ran up to his room, leaving dirt and mud on the polished floors. His door slammed shut behind him, and his breaths were unsteady as he locked it before sliding down to the floor. He didn’t understand. He didn’t understand it had to be a trap this couldn’t be real _theycouldn’tbereal_. His heart felt like he was having a heart attack, his blood pounding in his ears. The room, too large now, seemed to shrink in until it instead was squeezing him, forcing the air out of his lungs. He shivered. Feeling imaginary rain whip against his arms, making the hairs on his arms stand.

They had to be lying to him. They were trying to trick him, make him trust them so they could humiliate him later. Break him. His nails dug into his arms as he hugged himself, drawing blood. They were playing with him. They had to be. Adults couldn’t be trusted. Adults didn’t _care_.

And if they weren’t-

If he got away but _John_ didn’t when it was _his fault_ and John’s father was probably yelling at him now or hitting him or- or- or-

Alexander heaved out a sob. It tore at his throat, made his stomach ache, as it forced itself up and out. Tears spilled down his cheeks as he stared out the window, at the blue sky. The clouds had disappeared. Sunlight spilled in, making the glass gleam. Warm against his skin. If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend nothing of this had happened. He was still a child. He’d wake and _maman_ would hug him and tell him it had all been a nightmare, and James would be watching from the door in a mix of worry and annoyance at being woken up. He was safe with them.

But when he cracked his eyes open, tears stinging, there were no signs of his tiny bedroom at home with its flaking paint and shelves upon shelves of every torn, read-into-pieces book his mother had been able to find him, and pile of library book. Instead he saw the white-painted window and the fancy wallpaper and soft, _new_ armchair in the corner of the manor he was staying in.

And then he was crying. Sobs straight-out wrenched themselves from him as he hugged his knees, gasping for air. He wiped his nose with his sleeve, grimacing, before another sob shook his body. He thought he could hear knocking, someone calling his name, but he wasn’t sure, his own cries were too loud. Alexander couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried. He’d thought they’d knocked it out of him. Gross. Gross and unpleasant and _weak_. His stomach ached as he tried to breathe, failing miserably, chipping for the smallest piece of air.

“_Ouch_,” a voice came, and a crash, and he jerked, looking up. Through the tears, the world was hazy, but he made a shocked noise at seeing Lafayette lying on the floor in front of the… open window. That had been locked moments before. Lafayette scrambled to his feet, breathing out a soft, “_Oh, mon petit lion_,” as he saw him.

“Wh- wha-” The sobs quieted him, unable to force the words out. Lafayette didn’t seem to notice as he sank down on his knees next to him, pulling him into his arms. Alexander’s face ended up right against his chest, and he felt himself getting hugged. “Your- Your _shirt_\- I’ll- I’ll ruin it.”

“_Fuck_ my shirt.” The words were in French, and though it didn’t sound quite like the Creole-influenced French of the Caribbean, it soothed him. Lafayette held him tight. “Cry it out, _petit lion_. You’ll be alright. I promise.”

He tried to stop, but at Lafayette’s words, he couldn’t. Clinging to his foster brother – his _friend_ – he cried into his shirt. It got wet and disgusting, but at no point did Lafayette push him away or even scold him. He just hushed him, holding him tight. He was so warm…

Alexander didn’t know how much time had passed before his breathing calmed. He breathed into Lafayette’s chest for a few seconds before pulling away, wiping at his eyes. “I’m sorry…”

“What are you sorry for, little lion?”

“That I cried,” he mumbled in French. “That I’m such a mess. Just… for everything.”

“Don’t be silly.” Shifting, Lafayette flung an arm over his shoulder. Making him lean on him. Alexander heard his heartbeat through his shirt, slow and steady. “I am here for you, Alexander. Always. You’re my little brother.”

That made him pause. “…Mr Washington said I’m older than you?”

He pouted, before grinning. “With a couple months, yes. But I am bigger than you, little lion. Both taller and stronger. So I am the big brother.”

Somehow, that pulled a laugh from him. It was quiet and weak, but it felt good. “That’s not how it works. How- how did you get in?” he added as an autumn breeze ruffled his hair.

“Your door was locked so I had no choice.” Lafayette almost sounded a bit defensive, though he was still smiling. “I know how to pick these old windows. They haven’t been changed in like a hundred years or more.”

“…oh.” He’d picked the window. Normally, the thought of someone being able to do that would’ve scared the hell out of him, but since it was Lafayette… He didn’t think the other would use his power in a mean-spirited way, he really didn’t. “Will… Will John be okay?”

“Of course he will.” Sighing, Lafayette pulled his fingers through his hair. “Senator Laurens is… quick to anger. John is used to it, unfortunately. He’ll be fine. You’ll see him in school tomorrow.”

“…okay. Are Mr and Mrs Washington angry at me? For running?”

“No, my dear. You are fine.”

Not even now… What would it take to make them angry? He needed to know where the limit went. Needed to know what he could get away with, and what he couldn’t. If he didn’t get in another fight, or skip class again, they might not send him away… but he definitely needed to know what would warrant punishment from them. Why hadn’t they set up rules yet? But he couldn’t ask. Oh god, he definitely couldn’t ask. _Hello, sir. How much disobedience will you accept until you beat me into a bloody pulp?_ He almost laughed. Yeah that’d go well, for sure. 

“Can I… can we stay in here? For a while?”

“Of course, Alexander. However long you want.”

They ended up at the bed, with Lafayette’s fingers carding through his hair as he laid down, picking up his lawbook. He absentmindedly turned the pages, looking at notes he’d made and sides he’d underlined. Things he didn’t think made sense, things he’d like to change someday. Some things that just straight out _didn’t_ make sense due to loopholes strewn about certain laws. At the inside of the cover, he’d written _Alexander Hamilton_. The book was from the 19th century and once he’d realized he could keep it, he’d wanted to make it official. Claim it. It wasn’t every day he came into possession of something so old, after all. Especially not something he got to keep. Even though it was almost falling apart, he cared for it as well as he could.

Someday, hopefully, someone else would get their hands on it and see his name written in it and be awed at the thought of holding something that had once belonged to him. The thought brought a small smile to his lips. That was the goal, and he’d get there, for sure. Either that or he’d die trying. He’d have a legacy. People would remember him as a great man one day. The bastard orphan lost in the system would be replaced with someone people looked up to, wanted to learn about. He just knew it.

There was nothing he wanted more.

“You’re reading a lawbook?” Lafayette’s confused voice broke through his musings.

He glanced up at his foster brother. Lafayette’s phone was in his hand, while his other massaged Alexander’s scalp. It was a very pleasant sensation, his fingertips moving over his head and occasionally scratching lightly with his fingernails. “I said I want to study law.” Even now, admitting it made him nervous. Even though he already had, when Principal Franklin visited. Oh shit. Would Franklin be angry that he skipped his very first day, even though he’d went out of his way to get him written in during the weekend?

“Yeah, but just reading a fucking lawbook? I am very impressed, my friend.”

That warmed his chest, and he could almost pretend everything was alright. Because right now it did feel kind of alright, even though a clock was ticking down in the back of his mind to the moment he’d have to go back out to his foster parents and face them after everything he did.

Right now, it was enough.

Actually, no. Lafayette had abandoned his phone to start braiding, smiling as he did. Suddenly rambling on, still in French, about some good friend of his back in France whom he’d lived with after his parents’ death. His voice was rough but calming, and Alexander relaxed into both his hands and his words.

This was more than okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost feel a lil guilty portraying Henry Laurens like such an asshole to his son when the actual Henry and John Laurens, in what little I've seen, seem to have been pretty close. But it's just fun to write him that way. So I'm just gonna point out here that the actual Laurenses seem to have been quite close: among other thing was Henry among the three people Laurens wrote the most letters to (the other two were Washington and Hamilton), and his father lent him two slaves as valets during his time trying to build a black regiment (ironic, tbh. But they belonged to H. Laurens, so J. Laurens couldn't free them). 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter and Alexander not knowing how to deal being treated like a human being, and also send positive vibes for me getting a response from my professor tomorrow that says I can do another assignment bc he has us reading and writing an essay on a book that describes Hitler's and Stalin's crimes against humanity in excruciating detail and I can only handle that many graphic depictions of starvation and cannibalism-out-of-desperation


	11. Chapter 11

But the peace couldn’t last forever. It never did. Lafayette and Alexander fell asleep there on his bed, tangled together in a pile of lanky limbs, only to be abruptly woken by the _screaming_ of Lafayette’s alarm. Alexander gasped, eyes wide as the harsh noise rang in his ears, trying to pull his arm free from beneath the other to turn it off. Lafayette mumbled angrily, and he wasn’t sure whether it was over the alarm or him. His arm felt numb and full of pins and needles at once. His heart was still pounding from the shock of being awoken like that as he finally got free and could grab Lafayette’s phone to turn it off. Jesus fucking _Christ_.

And Lafayette hadn’t even woken up.

He breathed a sigh of relief as things got quiet, but couldn’t help but stare at his foster brother, who’d only buried his face deeper into the pillow and slept on peacefully. How the fuck did he do that? What kind of sorcery allowed him to sleep through something like that? But when he glanced at the phone, he saw that it was time to get up. School was in less than two hours. Dread filled his stomach. He’d have to go down and face his foster parents. And then school.

The one place that had been his refuge was going to turn into more torture, no doubt. At least in his old schools a broke foster kid hadn’t been anything strange. But Alexander was willing to bet that most kids _here_ had never met anyone like him. Let alone had the chance to torture him. He glanced toward the door. It was morning, and Mr and Mrs Washington had just let him stay in his room ever since he ran yesterday. Why?

His stomach grumbled. Right. He hadn’t had dinner. And he was starving. Ignoring the shiver that travelled up his spine, he grabbed Lafayette’s shoulder, shaking him. “Gotta get to school, Laf,” he said, trying to break through the other’s sleepy haze. He didn’t want to face Mr Washington himself. Couldn’t. Oh god what had he _done?_

Lafayette snored on. Starting to grow impatient as his stomach grumbled even louder, Alexander glanced at the stale glass of water at his bedtable. _Should he…?_ With determination he hadn’t know he had left, he grabbed it before he could think twice, and dumped the contents on Lafayette’s face. Lafayette let out a shrill shriek, sitting up. He looked like a drenched cat, and Alexander couldn’t stop himself; he laughed.

“_Alexander!_” Lafayette exclaimed, glaring at him. For a second Alexander stopped, scared he’d done something really stupid. “I know I am difficult to wake but that’s just _mean_.”

He didn’t sound angry, so Alexander relaxed. “I tried,” he defended himself, a hesitant grin tugging at his mouth again, “but you refused.”

Groaning, Lafayette dropped back down at the bed. “You are a cruel creature, Little Lion. A cruel creature.” But he rolled off the bed, stretching like a cat on the floor before standing up. Alexander stared at him, receiving a still-sleepy grin in reply. “We must shower. I call shotgun.”

“You can’t call shotgun on a shower,” he protested.

“Just watch me.” With that, he patted Alexander’s head once and disappeared out of the room like a whirlwind before Alexander could even process. The door slammed shut, making him flinch. Just on instinct.

Then he too rolled out of bed, dragging himself over to the wardrobe to pick out clothes for today. He… was tempted, when he saw his own bag stuffed full with his own clothing. Everyone was going to know anyway. He might as well look the part.

…But Laf wouldn’t let him get away with that, no doubt. With as forward as his foster brother was, he didn’t doubt that Lafayette would undress and dress him himself if he didn’t find his choice of clothing satisfactory, and he’d very much prefer to avoid that. Prefer the other to never see all the scars. With a sigh, he started to pick out something he’d find acceptable. In the end he went with a pair of blue jeans, a black t-shirt and a red flannel to wear over.

With the clothes in his arms, he waited for the shower to become available while packing his bag. There wasn’t much to put in it. A book he’d taken from the Washingtons’ library: _The Essential Gesture_ by Nadine Gordimer, a pair of headphones that had come with his phone, and his notebook and pencils. Then he could only wait, tapping his foot against the floor.

The shower became free, and as he stood in there, he didn’t want to leave. If he could just stay in the hot water, letting it wash away the world, he’d be happy. But it couldn’t last, and he forced himself out of it, made himself dress and brush his hair. It hung over his shoulders, so that he could use it to hide his face from view if he wished. He twirled a lock around his finger, smiling softly. He had his mother’s hair colour. Rachel Faucette’s hair.

He looked at himself in the huge mirror that took up most of the wall, framed by a black frame. He looked like a human person. The thought almost made him laugh. That was more than you could say about how he usually looked – a walking mess.

Taking a last deep breath of the warm, hazy air inside the bathroom, he opened the door. The chill of the outside world washed over him, making him shiver. The cold seemed to cling onto his hair, his skin. But Lafayette was waiting by the staircase, leaning against the wall as he played on his phone. Looking as interesting as ever: black skinny jeans today, with an eggplant-coloured dress shirt that was unbuttoned a good bit down over his chest. As he came closer, he saw that he also had a golden necklace that said _Cur Non?_

Well. It fit him. Lafayette smiled at him when he came, softer than his usual grin. “Ready to go down?”

Alexander nodded, even though he really wasn’t. Not in the least. Rubbing his arm, he followed Lafayette downstairs.

Mr and Mrs Washington were in the kitchen, as expected. Even though he’d known they’d be there, he stopped in the doorway, feeling his heartrate increase. They both smiled when they saw him. And he _didn’t like it_.

“Alexander,” Mrs Washington said, once again sounding so weirdly, _uncomfortably,_ relieved. “I’m glad to see you’re alright.”

“We were quite concerned,” Mr Washington agreed.

Alexander stared at them for a moment, then silently went over to sit in his chair. No punishment. No anger. No berating, even. Just. _Nothing_. Didn’t they care that he’d been disobedient? Didn’t they care he’d messed up? Did he really matter _that little?_ Or were they just flat out that stupid? A thousand thoughts swirled in his head as he stared at the cup of coffee Mrs Washington poured up for him as he tried to make sense of it all. They weren’t angry. They didn’t punish him or scold him or anything.

Hardly anyone said a word during breakfast. When they’d all finished eating, he began standing up, reaching out for his plate to put away the dishes. He stopped mid-movement.

No.

Without a word, not even a thanks for the food, he left the table. Tense, ready for the yelling, for someone to grab him. For someone to make him hurt. But they didn’t. They just let him go.

When he came down again with his bag and pulled on his shoes. Stepped outside to wait for Lafayette there. The atmosphere inside was too tense, too suffocating. Out here, the air was autumn crisp. Chilly, but not terribly cold, today. The sun shone on him, just as it had yesterday in the park. It was just yesterday, huh. It felt like an eternity.

He didn’t know how much time had passed before Lafayette came outside, now wearing a leather jacket over his shirt but his chest still very much revealed, and grabbed his arm gently, pulling him toward the gate. “We’re walking today,” he said. “Herc’s mum needed the car, and I don’t wanna take the bus.”

Alexander nodded, allowing himself to be pulled. He couldn’t believe what he’d done inside. Been that rude. But even more he couldn’t believe that he’d _gotten away with it_. He was so confused, and so unsettled. He was getting away with so much crap he would’ve been beaten half to death for in his earlier homes. Why. What kind of place _was_ this? What kind of _people?_

They walked in silence for the first block before Lafayette elbowed him. “Penny for your thoughts?”

He blinked, woken out of his reverie. “Uh. Nothing, just… We’re not even two lifetimes away from slavery, you know.” He just said the first thing that came into his mind. He didn’t want the other to know what he was actually thinking about. When Lafayette looked confused, he elaborated. “The civil war ended 1865. Someone who was a teenager or young adult during that time could’ve lived until the fifties or so, and lots of people who were born while that person was alive are alive today. That’s less than two lifetimes since the civil war.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Lafayette agreed. “Then we’re only three lifetimes from the American and French Revolutions, are we not?”

He nodded slowly. “That’s another eighty years. Pretty much exactly a lifetime.”

“History is closer than you think.”

Both of them pondered on this.

“Are you okay?” Lafayette eventually said.

Alexander gave him a fake smile. He didn’t know if it fooled the other, but he hoped it did. Because he really didn’t want to talk about any of this. No one else had to be bothered with his issues. They weren’t their problems. “Always am.”

Elbowing him lightly, Laf smiled. “It’ll be alright, _mon petit lion_. You are very strong.”

He nodded. They kept some small talk before they caught sight of the school, but then he felt his stomach drop. Dread over going back there filled him. And dread over seeing John, after what he did. Even though John had said his father didn’t hit enough to leave marks, he was terrified of seeing a bruise or black eye and know it was because of him. He froze, wanting to just turn around and run. Without a word, for which he was grateful, Lafayette gently grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward the building.

The crowd felt suffocating as they entered the schoolyard, and then the hallway. His breathing shallowed, heart flitting in his chest. Oh jesus fuck he couldn’t do this he couldn’t _breathe_-

“Alexander!” A light voice came, and he turned around to see Eliza coming running toward him. She looked so concerned, her lips, painted a dull red, pursed in worry. It made him stop dead, mind going blank in confusion why she would care. She stopped in front of them both. “Are you okay? What happened yesterday was horrible.”

He blinked, staring like a deer, before smiling. He didn’t even know himself if it was genuine or his usual charming smile. “Of course. It takes more than that to sink me.”

She looked relieved. And jesus fucking Christ if she wasn’t beautiful like that. Two other girls closed up around her, and she smiled. “Oh, meet my sisters. This is Angelica – she’s in her last year, and this is Peggy – she’s a year younger than us.”

Alexander looked up at them and his heart skipped a beat. Both of them were straight out _gorgeous_. Angelica’s curly black hair spilled over her shoulders over a white blouse that looked kind of early 1900’s-ish and dark pink jeans and lipstick the same colour. Stiletto heels made her even taller. Peggy had sneakers, jean shorts with daisies on them and a sunshine yellow tank top. Her dark brown curly hair was in a ponytail on top of her head. Undoubtedly both of them were two of the most magnificent women he’d ever seen. Wow. He gave them both his best smile, the kind that would melt the hearts of women – and men.

“An honour.”

Angelica smiled at him. “A pleasure to meet you.” Then her face fell. “Betsy told us what happened yesterday. Don’t worry, Lee and his buddies won’t get away with it. Or Arnold, for not defending you.”

He frowned. “Betsy?”

Eliza blushed bright red. “That’s me. My name’s actually Elizabeth.”

“A beautiful name,” he told her before turning to Angelica. “Thank you. But it’s fine. I’m used to it.”

“That’s horrible!” Peggy crossed her arms. “No one should be used to that.”

“That’s what I’m saying,” Lafayette agreed.

Eliza nodded, then smiled shyly at him. “If you’d like, you could sit with us for lunch,” she offered. “All of you.”

His cheeks warmed. Lafayette gave him a _look _before grinning. “We’d love to, _ma belle Eliza_. Alexander certainly would.”

The heat that flushed his face made him want to turn around and glare at Lafayette, but he also really didn’t want Eliza to get the wrong idea. He did want to sit with her- with them, and it scared the shit out of him. Relationships weren’t for him. Not until he was in a position where he knew he wouldn’t have to move abruptly. That is, once he was an adult with a stable economy. Probably not until after college, once he was a lawyer.

But when Eliza smiled, eyes bright, he really didn’t want to tell her no.

“We have to go,” Peggy said brightly, “but we’ll see you at lunch!” She hooked her arms into her sisters’ and they left. But Eliza turned, smiling at him over her shoulder.

“_Tu l’aimes_,” Lafayette teased him. _You like her_.

He glared. “Shut up.”

Right then, Lafayette’s phone made a noise. He fished it up. Worry flashed over his face. “John and Herc are here.”

Just as he said that, the two came in through the doors. Alexander’s heart dropped to the floor. John’s gaze was glued to the floor. One hand rested on the strap of his backpack, the other hung by his side. Oh no. He hated him now, he knew he did. He squeezed the pride-bracelet in his jeans-pocket.

Standing frozen, he couldn’t even move when his two friends (former friends?) came up to them. Neither could he stop stare at John, desperately searching for any signs of injury – bruises, an uneven walk, an arm pressed against his arm. But thankfully, nothing. He didn’t know what he’d done if he saw that. Probably nothing. It wasn’t like there was anything he _could_ do and that was even worse.

He smiled weakly at John when the other finally looked up. His expression was somewhat strained, but he smiled back. Something like relief filled Alexander, so much he had to lean onto the lockers.

“Are- are you okay?” he asked before berating himself. _Stupid question_. Of course he wasn’t.

But John nodded, shrugging nonchalantly. “Yeah. Ain’t anything unusual, you know. Do you have my bracelet?”

Nodding quickly, he pulled his hand up, holding out his fist. It took him a second to realize he had to open it, but then he revealed the ribbon to John, who smiled again, pulling it on. “Thanks, bud. If you hadn’t been there, I would’ve had to throw it away. I’ve lost too many bracelets for that.”

“If I hadn’t been there you wouldn’t have been arrested.” Alexander shoved his hands back into his pockets, unable to look at him.

He hissed, head flying up to stare at John again as a fist hit his arm. Not hard. But completely out of nowhere. John narrowed his eyes at him. “Hey, don’t blame yourself. If it hadn’t been then it would’ve been another time. It ain’t ever your fault people are being fucking racist.”

“But-” It was always his fault.

“Cut the bullshit.” John grabbed his wrist, forcing him to look him in the eyes. “It’s not your fault, Alex. Literally no one blames you. Except my asshole of a father, but who gives a _fuck_ about him?”

“Well said, _mon ami_.” Lafayette nodded, ruffling Alexander’s hair. “You are smarter than that, little lion.”

Alexander blushed harshly, glaring down at the ground. He didn’t know how to deal with this. When was the last time he’d been told something wasn’t his fault? “Fine,” he muttered.

“_Marvelleux_.” Lafayette gave him a one-armed hug before stepping over to Hercules’ side to kiss his cheek. Hercules’ arm enveloped his waist, and he smiled. “Let’s get to class, then. Show that _branleur_ Lee and his friends that we don’t give a fuck what they have to say, _ça sonne bien_?”

“Sounds good,” Alexander agreed softly, warmth filling him. So this was what it was like to have friends. He quite liked it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As it turns out, to little surprise, my ability to write is directly correlated to how much I have to do in school. I finally got to take a few days break and managed to write another chapter


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a shorter and _very_ dialogue heavy chapter. My inspiration for this fic goes in waves and it seems like I'm in a slope right now
> 
> This is not edited bc I'm tired

Classes went smoothly that morning. Alexander didn’t have any with the assholes from yesterday and the English-teacher, Ms Porter, was (rightfully) impressed with the poem she had him write, so much she read it in front of the class. She asked his permission first, which he appreciated. When she asked if he wrote a lot of poetry, he’d been able to tell her he had written one that had gotten published in _The Gazette_ home at St. Croix, and she had promised she’d try to find it because she wanted to read it. Hercules, who he shared the class with, said he wanted to as well.

It was an incredible feeling, that they cared enough for that. Of course, teachers had always liked him; he was highly intelligent and always tried to behave in school. But that she’d go to that extra effort was unusual. And he felt like he could get high on the feeling.

Twelve o’clock they reunited with Lafayette and John outside of the cafeteria, where John was starting to look agitated. Hercules and Lafayette didn’t comment, though, so he didn’t dare to either. He didn’t want to reawaken any negative emotions by doing so.

“How was class, Alexander?” Lafayette asked, and he grinned as recapped the forenoon’s events. It made Lafayette clap his hands together in delight. “I wish to read it too! You have to show me.”

Alexander almost blushed. Almost. “I’m sure I can… write home and ask someone to send an edition. I think the Stevenses kept a few,” he said, abashed. Although he knew it was fantastic writing, he wasn’t used to getting this much recognition for it.

“_Magnifique_. And now it is time for lunch.” Lafayette led their little group inside, almost like a general leading his men into battle. Alexander followed, quite curious to see what the cafeteria here would actually look like. It certainly was a lot cleaner than he was used to, just like the rest of the school. No food on the tables or the floor, and it looked as though it was actually regularly cleaned. Kids were spread out along circular tables, and there were a _lot_ of them. There were at least two hundred students having lunch at the same time, yet there was no shortage of seats. Close nearby, he caught sight of Jefferson sitting at a table together with two other boys. He glared at him, even though Jefferson couldn’t see him from this angle.

They queued for only a minute or two before they reached the food, and Alexander almost couldn’t stop himself from gawking. There were two different kinds of food – steak or beef – and a vegetarian option that actually didn’t look terrible. And no lunch ladies in sight. When he asked about it, John smiled, throwing food onto his plate.

“Food’s included in the tuition. Take as much as you want, you don’t have to pay for it.”

“_Tuition?_” The Washingtons were _paying_ for him to be here? What the _hell?_

“Yeah,” Hercules said, filling his plate with a whole mountain of steak and potatoes and sauce. “It’s a fancy school. My mam’s doing a lot to keep me here.”

That was a lot to take in and he didn’t like it. What were they doing? He was going to be in so much debt to them when he got out if this continued. Fuck, he already was. If not in money, in something else. Because they had to want _something_ from him to do all of this for him, and he didn’t know what it could be. He didn’t have anything to give! Especially nothing that people like the Washingtons could be interested in. It was confusing and unsettling and he didn’t know how to deal with it.

Nonetheless he was hungry as fuck, so he loaded up his plate with all kinds of food and even fresh vegetables. He’d never had this much on a plate before, and it was _thrilling_. Turning away from the serving table, he stepped over to where Lafayette and John had stopped when they’d finished taking food, and soon they were joined by Hercules. He turned to look around for Eliza and her friends, but then John sighed loudly.

“Sorry ‘bout this, Alex,” he said, before starting to make his way over to a table. The rest of them followed as confusion grew in Alexander. What was going on?

Realization hit him as John slammed his tray down on top of a table, and its inhabitants looked up.

“Well, well,” Jefferson drawled, southern accent strong. “Is daddy mad again, Johnny?”

“Mind your own fucking business, Jefferson,” John muttered as he sat down. Alexander stared in confusion, and Lafayette slapped his forehead.

“I completely forgot. _Merde_. Senator Laurens likes Thomas,” he muttered to Alexander in explanation. “It’ll make him less mad.”

“Which is completely natural.” Jefferson looked amused as he looked at John’s disgruntled expression. “I do believe the senator would be pleased to have a son more like me.”

“Yeah,” John agreed, glaring at him. “Definitely. You’re almost as much of an asshole as he is.”

“Now, now.” He sipped at his glass of water, and the way he was doing it you’d almost think he was drinking wine from a crystal glass instead of sitting in a school cafeteria. “I always let you sit here when you’ve messed up, even though Lafayette is the only one of you I can stand. If I was as soulless as you seem to think, I would just tell the senator that you always insult me and is only sitting here to avoid his wrath.”

“Which is very nice of you,” Lafayette smoothly cut in, pressing himself down between Jefferson and John. Wiggling until he fit. “We were going to sit with the lovely Eliza and her friends, so I am going to send her a text and let her know she is welcome to join us. If she does-” He pointed his fork at everyone, vaguely aggressively. “-I expect you all to _behave_.”

Alexander had to wonder what he was writing as he tapped a message into his phone. _Help there’s a catastrophe on the horizon_. Suppressing a growl, when Hercules sat he did as well, and soon he was pressed between John and a short-haired stranger.

“James Madison,” the stranger said, voice soft as he held out his hand to shake. “Nice to meet you.”

…Surprisingly civil, from one of Jefferson’s friends. He shook the hand, giving a polite smile. “Alexander Hamilton. A pleasure.”

“And this is Aaron Burr,” Jefferson added, nodding toward the third boy, who had a book open on the table. He didn’t seem particularly interested in what was going on, but smiled nonetheless. A very generic smile, the kind someone smiled when they didn’t want to reveal their real feelings.

“Glad to make you acquaintance,” Burr said, and Alexander saw John roll his eyes over the formality. Hm. But he smiled back nonetheless, holding out his hand. Burr shook it. He did seem kind of interesting, at least. A lot more so than Jefferson.

“Burr’s the school’s official prodigy,” John told him. “He’s our age but in Jefferson’s class.” So he skipped a year, then.

“I just study a lot,” Burr said modestly.

“Uhuh.” Hercules crossed his arms. “Everyone knows that ain’t true.”

“Well, to be fair,” Jefferson drawled, “he does study a _lot_. Way too much. Never wants to do anything fun.”

“Your opinion of fun happens to differ from mine, Thomas, as you are well aware.” After closing his book carefully after placing a bookmark in it, Burr took a sip of his milk.

“Hello,” a sweet voice came from behind them. Turning around in his seat, Alexander caught sight of Eliza. Alone, for some reason. She smiled at them, lifting her tray slightly. “I thought I’d join you, since Lafayette offered.”

“Ah, _bien sûr, ma belle_.” Lafayette gave Alexander a look, and when he just looked back in confusion, Hercules elbowed him in the side. He blinked, then realized. _Oh_. Quickly, he shuffled to the side, pressing himself against John. His body warmth leaked through Alexander’s shirt, and he could almost not keep himself from blushing, especially as John smiled at him. Why was he so _goddamn handsome?_

His heart skipped a beat in his chest as Eliza sat down next to him as well, the table now so packed her leg pressed against his. Had he ever seen a prettier girl? He didn’t think so. His mouth felt dry. Quickly, he swept half his drink before he could get out an, “Hello.”

“Hello, Alexander,” she replied. “It’s nice seeing you again.”

“Ah, you too-” He wanted to punch himself. Where was his usual smoothness? No, where was his _sense?_ He would have no use for his smoothness because he did _not_ date. “How has your morning been?”

“Very good, thank you. A lot less dramatic than yesterday.”

“Yeah…”

“Ms. Porter was very impressed with Alex’s poetry,” John came to his rescue.

Eliza looked interested. “You write poetry?”

“Sometimes.” At least this was something he could talk about, no problem. His writing. “Mostly I write essays on the state of our country and the economy, but I do enjoy writing creatively sometimes as well. It is good relaxation.”

Eliza’s presence seemed to neutralize the animosity between John and Hercules and Jefferson, although Alexander himself couldn’t help but glare at him occasionally. Lafayette seemed to relax when he noticed it. And somehow the conversation soon moved onto economics.

“Our economy is built on money,” Alexander argued after Jefferson came with a stupid comment about how the economy was built on the backs of farmers.

“Money is just a promise by society,” John countered. There was a light in his eyes, this was clearly something he was compassionate about. And goddamn if it wasn’t a good look on him, passion. “It holds no true value. The only currency of worth in this world is-”

“_Friendship!_” Lafayette shouted.

Snorting, Alexander suggested, “The fear of your enemies?”

“…Land. The only currency of worth is land. What the fuck you two?” John gestured with his fork. “Money, especially the _idea_ of money that big bank accounts and stocks is, will disappear in the blink of an eye if people lose trust for it. Paper money and coins made out of pretty much useless metals, like today, won’t matter either if we decide they don’t. _Land_, however, is the most important currency there is. If you own the land, you own the resources. Society have survived for millennia without paper or digital money, but it would not survive without agriculture, forestry, housing, and countless other important resources you get when you have land. That’s why the Laurens-fortune is mainly made from land and what can be earned from it.”

“That was true in the past,” Alexander agreed. “But not today. For maximum wealth and prosperity a land should focus on building up its treasury by exporting as much as possible and importing as little as possible while creating our own resources, which we pay our workers _money_ for.”

“You’re both right.” Alexander was surprised to see Eliza join the conversation, but her voice was calm and factual as she spoke. She smiled. “Money is rather important. It is our agreed-upon currency internationally. It’s a measure of a country’s wealth. But money buys resources that comes from land, and we would be very dead without those resources.”

Both Alexander and John fell quiet, contemplating this.

Lafayette clapped his hands together in excitement, his grin wide. “Ah, _Mademoiselle _Schuyler. Never have I seen anyone end an argument so smoothly before.”

She giggled. “You know Angelica. Will argue about everything. I had to learn this skill early.”

Eventually, they packed up their lunch, and Eliza had to rush to her next class. But before she left, she slipped a piece of a napkin into Alexander’s hand. Her skin was warm against his.

Confused, he unwrapped it.

_My number_, was all that was written on it, together with a telephone number.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alexander is a mercantilist and John is more of a physiocrat. Eliza is reasonable
> 
> So this month I've written a research paper on gender during the first year of the Swedish witch trials in the county they started in. Fun fact: 80% of all accused witches were women, and 15% of all accused women were executed. Only 5% of accused men were executed, when they already only were 20% of the accused. In general, at least. Statistics vary, of course, but these statistics generally hold true for all of Europe, except a couple more pheripheral countries where women were an even higher statistics, and I believe that in Finland for example the rates were pretty much equal.  
Also at least in this county, while women were having sex with Satan, the men were having sex with Satan's daughter. I wrote a local vicar to ask about this and it seems as though they just straight up invented Satan's daughter to avoid homosexuality.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eyyy guess who wrote this entire chapter in one day? My writing discipline exercises have worked, I see. Also my apologies this took so long to get out, I've just been very focused on writing original work. But here's a chapter! Finally!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has left comments, this chapter would definitely not exist without you

The rest of the day was a strange sensation and Alexander wasn’t entirely sure exactly how it went. The phone number in his pocket kept dragging his attention, but so did the bob of John’s ponytail where he sat in the bench in front of him in class. Of course, he still did excellent, and when the teacher called on him he gave a thorough analysis of the colonialist elements in _Wide Sargasso Sea_ by Jean Rhys, which he luckily had read merely out of curiosity after reading _Jane Eyre_ in class a few years earlier. It wasn’t a great book, but it wasn’t bad either.

But the day passed, and all he could think about was how badly he wanted to see Eliza again, and also how nice it would be to hold John’s hand; they looked like very strong, good hands, and they probably were judging from all that he’d been told about John’s farm and animals. Someone who worked that much with horses and cows and whatever else probably was very strong.

Eliza had very pretty eyes.

So did John.

And both of those thoughts were entirely ridiculous because even _if_, by some _miracle_, even one of them actually was interested in him, the bastard orphan, like that – a big if, because they were rich and fancy people, and he was not – he would not be so selfish and cruel both against them and himself as to date someone he actually liked, because then it would hurt even more once he got sent away again.

But even he could dream, he supposed. Maybe, with a shit-ton of luck, he’d run into one of them again in college. He had to imagine they’d both go to some fancy, good college, and so was he if he so had to die to get the scholarships he needed.

The school day passed in a blur and then, suddenly, it was time to go home. He hadn’t had his last class with any of his friends, but met all three of them by the lockers after the last bell rang. Just as he came there, John was laughing about something Hercules had said, and Lafayette had his arms over Hercules’ shoulders, and it was just so clear that they belonged together. A pang went through Alexander. He had forgotten how it felt to _belong_.

As John turned to look at him, he almost lost his breath. John’s eyes were bright and excited, and he grinned. And he was gorgeous. “Hey, Alex!” he called. “Great news. The Schuylers are having a party on Friday and we’re all invited, obviously.”

“A party?” The wheels in his head turned as he considered that. He had nothing but vague memories of parties he’d been on before; cheap booze, and terribly loud music, and shouting as one of the neighbours, or a parent coming home early, called the cops, and then, usually, pain, if his foster parents figured out what he’d been doing. There were also flashes, mostly forgotten because of how drunk he’d been, of heated kisses and _more_ in dark rooms. Maybe a closet.

“_Oui_,” Lafayette said, thrilled. “The sisters always throw the best ones. You’ll love it, _mon ami_.”

Well, if Lafayette thought he was going, then he supposed he was. He had to imagine his foster brother had a way to get past the Washingtons if he’d been at parties before. “Sounds fun.”

“Hell yeah!” John punched the air, then threw an arm over his shoulder. Alexander fought the heat on his cheeks as he was pulled against him. Then scowled in annoyance as John’s other fist rubbed the top of his head, and he slapped the hand away. John’s grin just grew. “You’re gonna have the fuckin’ time of you life. Plus, the Schuylers are _very _reputable, so Father won’t even mind if I go.”

The pure reminder of Senator Laurens made Alexander want to punch a wall, but he forced those thoughts away to grin instead. “Oh, really? So can I except champagne and _hors d’oeuvres_ and posh talk about landownership?”

“You can certainly expect champagne.” Hercules let out a laugh. “But don’t tell any adults that.”

Oh that was an exciting thought. He’d never had champagne before. If you didn’t count the extremely cheap five dollar champagne he’d gotten a glass of once at New Year’s Eve. He also had an extremely vague memory of getting to taste just a tiny bit of Mr Stevens’ glass once back at St. Croix when he was a kid. “What else can I expect? Penguin suits?” He sounded teasing, but he honest to god wanted to know. He had a feeling this wouldn’t be much like the drunken youth parties in the slum he’d previously been at.

“Ha, ha.” John slapped him over the head, and this time, he didn’t flinch. John’s eyes glimmered with actual amusement, despite his dry tone, and Alexander smiled back. “Nah. It’s just a party. Mr and Mrs Schuyler and the younger Schuyler siblings will be away so apparently Angelica decided they should take the chance. Have you had alcohol before?”

“Duh. I got drunk for the first time a month before my thirteenth birthday. Wasn’t very nice, but I got used to it. Numbed the pain.”

“Oh damn.” Hercules grimaced, looking very concerned.

Alexander just waved his hand. “I’m not an alcoholic or whatever. I just drink at parties.” Even if it usually got him a good beating after. Worth it, just to feel relaxed for once.

“Hm. If you say so. We shall keep an eye on you, though.” Lafayette stared at him, as though he was daring him to argue. For a moment, he thought about doing so, but decided against it, just for now. It was… nice, in a way, that they actually cared, even if they didn’t need to. “And the beautiful Eliza will be there, of course. So you better not get too drunk, little lion.”

Oh shit.

Of course Eliza would be there. It was her house, her party. And so would John. Suddenly he _really_ wanted a drink, even though he meant what he had said. He _wasn’t_ an alcoholic. He’d never let his future get ruined like that. Poor teenage alcoholics didn’t get scholarships and they certainly didn’t have legacies. Well, not good ones, at least.

But fuck. Shit. He was going to be at a party with both Eliza and John and it was a _party_ and there would be alcohol and those things usually weren’t good combinations for him. He was relatively sure it usually ended with him wearing less clothes than usual and he didn’t want that now.

Though on the other hand maybe it would be a good idea, maybe it would make his stupid heart realize what an idiot it was being. But no, still. He knew he couldn’t do that.

There was nothing he wanted less than to get into an awkward situation like that around them, _especially_ if it included him wearing less clothes. In the slum, no one blinked about a kid having scars, or bruises, or even a broken tooth where there wasn’t one yesterday (though luckily that one hadn’t happened to him yet. Had happened to one of the other foster kids in one of his families though, and no one gave a damn). But Alexander was pretty damn sure that here, _everyone_ would react. There was no way that kind of thing was commonplace here. He didn’t want their pity. Especially not John’s and Eliza’s.

“Oh come on,” he just replied nonchalantly, as though he wasn’t screaming inside. “What do you think of me?”

Lafayette narrowed his eyes at him, but right then his phone beeped. He fished it up and checked the message that had just arrived. “Oh, George is outside to pick us up.”

“Wh- what?” He couldn’t help the way his voice shook slightly. “Why? We haven’t done anything.” Right?

“Probably just came by on the way home from work or something.” Lafayette smiled reassuringly, and he hated that it kind of helped. How weak was he, to need that? How desperate, to be reassured by a smile? Pathetic.

Nodding and swallowing past the newly formed clump in his throat, he quickly unlocked his locker, shoved the books he wasn’t bringing home into there, and grabbed his bag. He was just about to say _Let’s go_ so they would not keep Mr Washington waiting before he stopped himself. No. Let him wait. If he had a problem with that then he was just going to have to make that clear, hm?

“So, John,” he said instead, leaning against his locker after he closed it. “You had a dog, right?” Perhaps it was a strange change of subject – no, it definitely was – but whatever, he just wanted to stay here a little more. And John _lit up_ when he asked, fumbling to get up his phone from his pocket as fast as humanly possible. Within seconds he was holding up the screen right in front of Alexander’s face, so close that he had to grab his arm to pull it away so he actually could see.

“This is Juggler,” John told him, sounding absolutely delighted, and it was fucking adorable. “She’s an Old English sheepdog and I’ve had her since she was a puppy. Father gave me her in birthday gift when I was ten. She’s the best gift I’ve ever gotten.”

“She’s cute.” She really was, too. Extremely hairy, white with grey spots, and her pink tongue hanging out of her mouth as she looked at the camera.

“Ain’t she? She’s super obedient and a great working dog. She’ll herd sheep or cows or chickens, and come with me when I’m out riding alone, and she can just do _everything_ a farm dog should. Including hunting rats in the barn.”

John rambled on for a good while before Lafayette’s phone dinged again, and he glanced at it. “George is wondering where we are. We should go.”

He very much did not want to go. He wanted to stay here and listen to John speak excitedly about his dog, and his horse, who he’d at some point started weaving into the conversation as well. A American Quarter horse who he’d raised from foalhood after its mother had refused to nurse it, that everyone had thought it was going to die but John had refused to accept it and it had grown up into a brilliant horse, apparently. Alexander knew absolutely nothing about horses – or any animal, honestly, if he ever got a pet it’d be a cat because they were the easiest to care for, to his knowledge – but it was nice to listen to.

Still, he could only refuse for so long. Once Lafayette grabbed his arm and started pulled him, he gave up, and followed. Waving goodbye to John and Hercules, who watched in amusement as they disappeared down the hallway. He turned to look where they were going, and the closer they got to the entrance, the more the ball of anxiety in his stomach grew. After letting Mr Washington wait for that long, he’d undoubtedly be angry. Maybe he would finally show his cards, and that would be a relief, but it would also hurt and he didn’t look forward to _that_ part.

The car was waiting at the school’s parking lot, perfectly clean and polished as always, and Mr Washington raised an eyebrow at them as Alexander climbed into the backseat and Lafayette threw himself into the front passenger seat, having called _Shotgun!_ Completely unnecessarily too, since Alexander would rather die than sit next to Mr Washington in the front.

“Sorry it took so long,” Lafayette said, half-apologetic, half-entertained. “John went of on a spiel about his dog and we couldn’t escape.” Placing the blame on John, who Mr Washington couldn’t touch, and not him, Alexander noticed.

He considered telling Mr Washington the truth, that he had made John talk about his dog, but years of self-preservation forbade it. So he didn’t, even if it might’ve been cowardly. Even if he _wanted_ to get _some_ kind of reaction out of his foster father.

“Ah, that boy,” Mr Washington just commented fondly, clearly unsurprised to hear this. “He and his animals.”

“John’s such a farmer.”

“Someday he’s gonna do something great within the animal sciences.” Mr Washington sounded entirely convinced of this. And Alexander had to imagine he was right. John really sounded like he both knew what he was doing and like he loved it. It was fucking strange. He’d never thought anyone could be that excited about what sounded like extremely rough and dirty menial labour. Who’d want to spend their life cleaning horse and cow shit?

John, apparently. And just because it was John, Alexander had to imagine it wasn’t quite as bad as it sounded. Or maybe he just wanted to say fuck you to his politician father, which also would be respectable in Alexander’s eyes.

He took a deep breath and then asked, “Why did you pick us up? We could’ve taken the bus.”

Mr Washington turned to smile at him before he started the car to drive away. “We’re not going home,-” Alexander’s heart dropped. He knew it. They were going back to CPS to get rid of him. It was happening. And he didn’t even get to say goodbye to his friends. “-we’re going to the bookstore so you can pick out your own library. Me and Martha have ours, and Lafayette has his, so you should have one as well. You seem to like reading more than any of us do.”

Through his panic, it took a few seconds for him to process what he’d just been told. Then… “_What?_”

“The bookstore, Alexander. You need to get some more books of your own. Your bookshelves at home are way too empty for a boy as smart as you are.”

Despite it being repeated, he just couldn’t understand exactly what it was he was saying. The bookstore? Books? Washington was going to _buy him books?_ What kind of alternate reality was this where his foster father thought he needed to read _more _and not _less_? What the absolute hell was going on here? It had been generous enough to let him into their library. “You- you don’t have to,” he managed to get out.

“Of course we have to, son. Your brain has to be encouraged.”

Lafayette clapped his hands, excited. “_Trés bien!_”

Alexander couldn’t bring himself to either protest nor rejoice. He only stared at the back of the driver seat headrest as the car pulled out on the road and drove back toward the centrum of the city, where he and the others had been shopping. _Books_. They were buying him _books_. Something that not only wasn’t a necessity for life (technically), but in general was considered a _waste_. Especially for someone like him who no one thought he would ever become something.

The last book he’d gotten that he didn’t get himself had been sent from James. All the way from St. Croix. And his foster father had found it and thrown it into the fire because he shouldn’t waste his time reading when there were chores to be done. It had been about the slave trade in the Danish Caribbean, he’d seen, before it burned. The next time he’d spoken with James, he’d assured him he loved the book, but it wasn’t necessary to send him more. He had more than enough here.

The memory sent a painful sensation through him even now, years later.

That foster father had been one of his very worst ones. All the worst scars on his back had come from that one home.

Lafayette and Mr Washington didn’t seem to notice his inner turmoil as they journeyed through the city and pulled up at a parking lot just nearby the city square. “Ah, Martha is already here,” Mr Washington commented and pointed, and Alexander forced himself to look up to see Mrs Washington sitting at a park bench, wearing a large hat and a sundress, just outside a bookstore. He looked up at the building, and gaped.

Three floors. The bookstore was three floors, with a café seating outside, and a sign.

_Fiction and biographies – first floor_

_Social sciences – second floor_

_Natural sciences – third floor_

He climbed out of the car once both Mr Washington and Lafayette had done so, allowing Mr Washington to lock it behind him, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the building. He had never seen such a large bookstore in his _life_.

Mr Washington laughed, patting his shoulder lightly. Alexander flinched violently, but was happy when Mr Washington pretended like nothing. “Go ahead, son. Pick whatever books you want. As many as you want.”

“Are you sure?” He had to ask. If this was a joke of some kind, he might just die on the spot. That would be too cruel.

“Of course I’m sure.” He smiled, and Alexander _sort of_ believed him. Still scared that this wouldn’t be for real. “Whatever you want, Alexander. I swear.”

When Lafayette grabbed his hand to pull him inside, he could only follow, excitement filling him.

The bookstore was enormous. Gigantic. Immense. Tremendous, massive, gargantuan, every synonym to _huge_ he could think of in every language he knew. And Lafayette’s grin was almost a Cheshire grin, reaching all the way from ear to ear, his excitement clear and loud. That, if anything, made him think that this was actually real. This was real and he was going to get _books_ and he could choose them himself, because Lafayette wouldn’t trick him. He knew that now.

There were shelves everywhere, with balconies, and the entire walls were entirely covered in books, except for a section near the cash register with notebooks and pens. And there were carts, just by the entrance. Alexander grabbed one of them, staring in awe, before he just started following the shelves, grabbing anything that caught his interest. Fiction section first, since that’s where they were. An anthology of Edgar Allan Poe and another of Oscar Wilde. One of Mary Wollstonecraft’s books. A biography of Jenny Lind, the Swedish Nightingale, who had come from nothing and became one of history’s first international superstars back in the 1800’s. _The Handmaid’s Tale_ by Margaret Atwood. _The Count of Monte Cristo_ by Alexandre Dumas, in original French. There were _so many books_.

And he could get what he wanted.

A laugh bubbled up, and as he looked around, even knowing that Mr and Mrs Washington were right behind him, he was happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So lately I've been obsessed with Jenny Lind. She was amazing. Look her up. I love her

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed, please leave me a comment! It really helps keeping me motivated!


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